


Here Be Dragons

by NorthernWall



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: DragonshifterAU, F/M, Fantasy, Fluff, Mild Adventure
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-18
Updated: 2018-07-10
Packaged: 2019-01-19 08:10:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 21,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12406494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NorthernWall/pseuds/NorthernWall
Summary: When an Ishvalan scholar sets off to study a wyvern in the Briggs' mountains, he finds more than he bargained for.





	1. An Anthology

**Author's Note:**

> As promised, something a bit lighter than _Through These Eyes_. 
> 
> Wyvern: Noun, a mythical animal usually represented as a 2-legged winged creature resembling a dragon. (Merriam-Webster) 
> 
> I believe, and I could be wrong, wyverns are typically considered a subset of dragons that walk upright (ish) and are commonly associated with ice and snow, and are typically found on mountaintops. 
> 
> Also, elements of this story are definitely inspired by _East of the Sun, West of the Moon_. That said, anytime I write a Liv/Miles fairytale Miles is the princess. Always. 
> 
> I hope you all enjoy it!

There were times, in his line of work, that Miles found himself in unusual and dangerous situations, and shivering on a deserted North City street corner long before sunrise definitely qualified.

“You Miles?” Miles jumped at the gruff voice and turned to find himself face to face with a man built like a bear.

He nodded and the big man laughed. “You’re Buccaneer, then?” He certainly hoped so; any hope he had of defending himself vanished at the sight of the man.

“I am.” He extended a large metal hand. He gave Miles an appraising look. “You sure you’re up for this?”

Miles flushed brightly, knowing he looked ridiculous; On top of everything he’d been told he would need to survive a trek in the Briggs’ Mountains his own equipment weighed him down. He nodded sharply, hefting his rucksack higher.

“You got all the supplies Karley told you to, then?” Buccaneer asked, eyeing the bundles with a slight smirk. When Miles nodded again, he continued fiercely “and you understand that I don’t guide dragon hunters?”

“Yes, of course! Karley made that point quite clearly.” He hesitated and then added, because Buccaneer was mildly terrifying, “I’m a scholar, I only want to study the wyvern.”

Buccaneer nodded, then narrowed his eyes at him, “if I even suspect you have ideas of poaching-”

“Wyverns are incredibly rare!” Miles interjected, horrified, “there’s only one verified to even exist in Amestris, and-”

Buccaneer smiled suddenly and brightly. “Well, you seem alright, then. It’s about six hours to the first rest on the mountainside, so we should get going. Ready?”

“Er, shouldn’t we consult a map?”

The big man snorted, contemptuously. “You asked for a native guide, didn’t you? I was born and raised in these mountains, I know them better than any map.”

“Oh.” Miles nodded, “right.”

\---

The hike up the mountain was bitterly cold and Miles was miserable. Buccaneer glanced over his shoulder periodically to make sure he was keeping up, but was not at all talkative. By the time they reached the cramped little cave that served as shelter for travelers, Miles was convinced he would die long before they reached the top.

“So,” Buccaneer asked as he kindled a fire, and Miles tried to rub some semblance of warmth back into his fingers, “why do you want to study the wyvern?”

“Huh?” Miles had so long been fascinated by dragons the idea of not wanting to study one was foreign to him.

“If you really don’t want to hunt her, you can’t be after any rewards, so why?”

“I’m writing an anthology.” Buccaneer nodded at his explanation and they sat, eating in companionable silence until, _“her?”_

“What?”

“You keep referring to the wyvern as her, how can you tell?”

“Oh, er,” Buccaneer, strangely, seemed to blush, “it’s not so much that I know, as I have a hunch. She or her is just easier to say.”

Miles narrowed his eyes behind his dark glasses, but let it go; if Buccaneer knew more than he was letting on, then he would just have to work to earn his trust.

By the second week of their search, Miles was convinced Buccaneer was deliberately leading him in circles. He had glimpsed the soaring figure of a dragon in the distance a few times, but each time he wanted to get closer, Buccaneer had a reason not to:

“She’s hunting--see how she keeps swooping?--you’ll get eaten.”

“That looks like a straight shot, but there’s actually a gorge, we’ll have to go the long way.”

“Do you have a death wish?! We can’t crowd her against those boulders like that!”

Shivering as they huddled around their campfire one night, Miles set down the book in which he’d been sketching the wyvern’s wings as he had seen them in flight, and finally asked, “why do you do this?”

Buccaneer glanced at him, “you mean, lead scrawny little city slickers like you around the mountain? You’re paying me.”

“Technically, I payed Karley to pay you,” Miles cleared his throat, “ _regardless_ , there are plenty of guides and you could make more money if you did lead dragon hunters. Why lead a scholar who swears not to poach, and not the ones who could afford to pay you more?”

Buccaneer scoffed, and Miles thought he wouldn’t answer, but he did. “How familiar are you with my people?”

Miles shook his head apologetically, “sorry, my area of research is more about dragons than people.”

Buccaneer waved away his apology, “I doubt there’s much written about us anyway.” He turned the meat over the fire, thoughtfully, “we believe in the life force of the mountain. All of the mountain’s creatures are sacred.”

“Is that meat from down the mountain then?” Miles cringed as soon as the words left his mouth, “er, I didn’t mean-”

Buccaneer laughed, “we do take the lives of animals, sometimes, yes. But, we honor their sacrifices; we use the fur for warmth, the meat to sustain our bodies, and the fat and the bones for light and heat.” Miles nodded, and Buccaneer continued, “to take the wyvern would serve no purpose; her meat would be lean and stringy, she has no fur for our warmth, and she has not enough fat for light or heat.”

“Ah,” Miles smiled slightly, “so you’re resourceful.”

“That and she’s a beautiful creature,” Buccaneer’s features softened a little, “to kill such a creature for greed would be unforgivable.”

Miles couldn’t help but smile in response, “I’m glad to hear that. Have you ever been close to her?”

Buccaneer’s face closed off almost immediately, but he didn’t look angry, merely guarded as if by habit, “not too close, no.”

“Really?” Miles raised his eyebrows. “Why don’t you want me to get close to her?”

“I’m trying to not get you killed.”

“She hasn’t killed you yet.”

“Because I’m not fool enough to put my nose in where it doesn’t belong!” Buccaneer snarled, “if you want to get yourself killed then hire another guide!”

Miles jumped at the harsh tone, “I’m sorry,” he managed after a minute, “I didn’t mean any offense, I just got carried away. I was able to get up close with the sand dragons right away, but they’re used to my people cohabiting with them.”

“Cohabiting?” There was an almost amused glint in Buccaneer’s eye, the anger gone as quickly as it had come.

“It means-”

Buccaneer snorted. “I’m not an idiot, I was just envisioning you marching into the wyvern’s cave and _cohabiting_.”

“So you _have_ been in her cave.” Buccaneer made a noise not at all unlike the growl of a bear, and Miles held his hands up placatingly.

“I’ll take you as close as I think is safe, and after that it’ll be your own head. Got it?”

Miles nodded, and there was nothing more to be said.

\---

Nearly a month into his foray and Miles had countless sketches of the wyvern in flight, and even a whole page and a half of writing about a particularly impressive hunting trip--she had taken out one of the infamously fierce Brigg’s bears, and Miles had watched in a kind of horrified awe as she flew away, carcass dangling from her blood-stained mouth--but no up close sightings. To make matters more complicated, they were constantly stumbling across hunting groups and Buccaneer’s mood had gone from bad to worse. The problem, as he pointed out, in colorful language that made Miles cringe, was that anyone willing to flout the poaching laws was not likely to be particularly trustworthy.

Miles was no fool; he noticed the way the groups had eyed them and he knew they would be entirely happy to slit his throat if they thought the leather-bound journal he guarded vigilantly would give them clues as how to find and, more importantly, kill the wyvern.

And then the wind shifted and the sky turned dark. They scrabbled towards shelter, Buccaneer physically grabbing Miles and forcing him to move faster, when they saw the lights of a hunting party nearby. Buccaneer stopped so abruptly Miles plowed into him.

“Listen to me,” Buccaneer turned and grabbed Miles’ tightly by the arms, “I’m going to go and herd them toward a cave system lower in the mountain. You keep going up that way and you’ll find a safe cave to wait out the storm in.”

“Wait-”

“There’s not time to argue!” The big man snapped, tugging the heavy fur wrap he usually wore around his shoulders off and wrapping it around Miles, “I know their types, as long as they think I’ll work for them, they’ll not bother me.” He tied the fastenings of the wrap securely. “You on the other hand, I’ve seen your eyes, you won’t last a day.”

Miles opened and shut his mouth pointlessly.

“Keep this on, you hear?” Buccaneer finished tying the wrap and gave him a shove, “go straight up and you’ll make it to a cave. Get in it and stay in it until the blizzard passes.” Without waiting for a response, he started down the other way, shouting “Go!” over his shoulder.

Miles ran up the steep incline, feeling the combined effects of the altitude and the cold stealing his breath. His chest ached, and with every step he feared he was veering off course. At last, just as the sting of the snow became unbearable he spotted the entrance to the cave. He scrambled in and leaned against a craggy rock wall, breathing heavily. He slumped with relief and waiting for the ringing in his ears to die down. His face, hands, and chest were stinging with cold and after the brightness of the storm, his vision swam with purple spots. A soft, deadly, rumbling and a wave of hot air chased the thoughts from his mind.

He swallowed nervously and turned. A pair of deep blue eyes were staring at him, mere feet from his face. _The Wyvern._

The dragon gave another rumbling warning and Miles stared, transfixed. The eyes were set in a large, scaly face, golden horns glinting in the dim cave light.

“Oh, hello.” Miles said faintly, as the head moved closer to him. “I’m sorry to intrude.”

The wyvern snorted, and brought her face very close to his chest, sniffing at the fur Buccaneer had insisted he wear. She snorted again, and pulled back, blinking in an almost puzzled manner. With a little distance between them, Miles was able to take in the long sinewy body of the wyvern, white scales shimmering against the glittering background of a hoard.

 _Ishvala have mercy,_ Miles thought as he realized he had not so much as stumbled into the same cave the wyvern was sheltering in, but into her home. She was eyeing him warily, and he wasn’t sure what she was going to decide.

“I’m really sorry.” He wondered if he was crazy for talking to the wyvern like she could understand. He decided it wouldn’t matter if he became her snack. “Please let me wait in here until the storm passes.”

She sniffed the air again and then rubbed her face on Miles’ chest. “Um,” he reached a cautious hand up to touch her horn, but as soon as he moved she yanked her face back, hissing angrily.

“Sorry!” He held his hands up, “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

She snorted again, the sound almost contemptuous. Miles held his breath while she regarded him, at last she sat back and he breathed a sigh of relief. He slid slowly down the wall to sit on the rock floor and continued slowly warming his hands and carefully taking in his surroundings.

The cave was larger than he had initially taken it for, with craggy offshoots, burrows, and ledges. Where he had come in was fairly bare, but a few feet further down, the floor and walls were lined with what he could only categorize as loot: things valuable enough for her to take and bring into her hoard, but not of any particular use or value to her. There were piles of furs and books (Miles’ fingers itched to get near them, some looked quite old), and assorted luggage, a saddle--Miles cringed to think what had happened to it’s horse and rider--and other random things he would expect to see a traveller carrying.

The larger part of the cave, however, glittered. Like all dragons, this wyvern had a magpie’s eye for treasure. She had made herself a bed of gold coins and jewelry, which she clawed at idly as she stared at him. In a place of honor on the back wall was a mound of weapons, of all types and makes, though, the elaborate arrangement of swords at the very top pointed to an obvious favorite.

When enough time had elapsed that Miles didn’t think she was going to suddenly pounce, he carefully shifted, and with slow movements picked up his bag. The wyvern straightened at that, leaning forward slightly, watching him with narrowed eyes.

In case she did understand him, he began narrating in a low, soothing, tone. “I want to get my journal,” he explained carefully, “it’s a book where I write observations and make sketches.” She tilted her head and he continued, encouraged, “I’m a scholar. I want to learn about you.”

He pulled the journal out carefully and untied the cord binding its leather covers, he turned the pages until he found a good sketch. “See?” He smoothed the pages and held them out for her inspection, “this is a sand dragon I studied in Ishval.”

She leaned forward and sniffed the paper experimentally. Her face, much more expressive than the sand dragon’s, crinkled in disdain and she pulled back, making little huffing sounds that he was pretty sure were sneezes.

He chuckled, “sorry, I guess it’s a bit sandy.”

She huffed and burrowed a little more into her trove. Miles jotted down a few notes, but as the blizzard raged outside it soon became too dark to see and he tucked the book back down into his rucksack.

He shivered and dug out more layers to put on, in the process dislodging the small knife he carried for protection. It clattered noisily on the rock floor and he jumped guiltily. The wyvern dove for it, sending sprays of gold across the cave.

“Sorry, sorry!” Miles apologized hastily, “I don’t mean any harm-”

She snatched it up with her talons and clutched it to herself. Her underbelly was gray and white, almost blue, camouflage for the Briggs’ sky. Moving with an awkward kind of grace, she clambered back onto her pile of gold, one wing outstretched for balance,using her tail to sweep it back into a mound. She set it carefully in an upside down helmet in her weapons pile. Then turned back to survey him. After a moment, she clambered off her gold pile and with a look he interpreted as a warning to stay still, moved toward the back of the cave.

As Miles curiously watched, she dug into a pile in the back and returned with a scroll clutched between her teeth. She dropped it carefully into his lap and sat back to watch him.

“What is-?” He hesitated and fidgeted with the ribbon holding it shut. “Oh! Is this a gift?” She snorted and clambered back onto her gold mound. “Is this common for you, then?” He wondered aloud, as he began unrolling it, “sand dragons exchange gifts sometimes.”

She dug deeper and settled in comfortably, he would have thought she was sleeping except for the way her narrowed eyes watched him over the top of the wing she had pulled around herself.

As she shifted, something caught his eye, she was holding her wing awkwardly and a long red line streaked angrily across it. “What’s happened to your wing?”

She snarled, folding her wing with a leathery snap.

Miles’ brows shot up. “You do understand me.” She hissed and turned her face away spitefully. He sighed, and slowly, carefully pushed himself up off the floor, “well, if it’s alright, I’m going to make myself comfortable.”

She turned back to watch him as he carefully stretched his aching limbs. He hauled his pack over to what appeared to be a pile of furs and prodded it experimentally. It looked as though someone, likely Buccaneer, had slept there, and it was easy enough to clamber into the middle and get comfortable.

He let out a groan of disgust as the stench hit him. “Don’t you ever air these out?”

She snorted and Miles could swear she was laughing at him.

“Of course,” he chuckled to himself, “you’re a dragon. Not very domestic.” She huffed again, and he murmured “well, goodnight I guess.”

He woke up quite suddenly, and for a moment he didn’t know why. Something, or someone, was crawling into the layers of fur beside him. He froze, completely at a loss. Nothing he had read or observed had suggested that dragons would keep prisoners. Certainly, small enough individuals had been mistaken for prey animals, but if they weren’t killed in the fight, they usually turned up in a few days.

The person pressed freezing hands and feet to his back and legs. They were small, larger than a child’s, but almost certainly belonged to a woman. He had never felt so uncomfortable in his life. Only the thought that she might be in danger kept him from crying out and potentially awakening the wyvern.

“Um, hello?” He received no answer and slowly began to push himself up on his arm to turn over.

“Don’t look at me!” The voice was rough as though unused for some time, but definitely female. She shoved him face-first back into the furs.

“Why?” It wasn’t the best response, perhaps, but he was a scholar, afterall and curiosity would always be his initial response.

“Tch!” She pushed away and the furs shifted as she made to climb out.

“Wait!”

_“What?”_

Miles swallowed at the deadly tone. “It’s freezing out there. Unless you have somewhere else to stay warm?”

There was a long silence while she deliberated and then she slid slowly underneath the covers to rest her back against his.

“Sleep well, then.” He certainly didn’t.


	2. A Fragile Trust

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter, for you all. :)
> 
> Happy reading!

When he awoke, the spot beside him was cold and empty. He sat up, looking around the cave which was lit dimly by a fire; the woman was nowhere to be seen, but the wyvern was coiled in her nest staring down at him through narrowed eyes.

“Good morning,” he said warily, glancing around in case the woman was hiding somewhere. “Thank you for letting me stay here.”

She blinked slowly at him, and he nodded absently. “Is there, er, anyone else here?” She continued blinking, and he wondered if she understood him at all, or if he was simply losing his mind. “Perhaps I dreamed it,” he muttered, running his fingers through his hair. His stomach grumbled loudly and he groaned.

The wyvern perked up noticeably and rose. Miles watched in fascination as swiftly strode across the cave, her movements relaxed, yet still powerful. She vanished into an opening that seemed almost too small for her and he listened to the sound of clattering, before she reappeared dragging what Miles realized, with a sickening jolt of his stomach, was a bear’s leg. She dropped it in front of him.

“Er, thank you, but I don’t have anything to give you.”

She shoved the bear leg toward him.

“That’s really kind-” She snarled and Miles jumped. “Saying no isn’t an option is it?” He gingerly gripped the bear leg and swallowed his disgust, “maybe I could cook it over the fire.” He prodded it, “I don’t suppose you have anything to clean this with?”

She glanced at her pile of swords and then glared at him.

“I won’t get greedy,” he pledged. “I just-” he cringed, “-this still has fur on it.”

She narrowed her eyes, but obligingly retrieved a slightly rusty knife from the bottom of her weapon pile.

“Thank you,” he took it with only a modicum of fear. He scraped the fur off and then sliced the meat into pieces small enough to reasonably cook. He didn’t have any other tools with him, so he skewered a piece on the end of the knife and held it over the flames.

Unseasoned and badly cooked, the bear meat was far from appetizing, but Miles ate it out of gratitude. That, and the wyvern was watching him like an overbearing, scaly, mother and he was a little afraid of how she would react if he didn’t diligently consume the meal.

“Would you like the rest?” He offered, when he felt like he couldn’t possibly eat anymore.

She narrowed her eyes suspiciously, but leaned down to snatch the food from him. The pieces were so small that she swallowed them without even chewing.

\---

Miles curiously opened the scroll he hadn’t been able to read the night before. It was in a language he didn’t know, but there beautiful drawings of a wyvern. Not the one he was sharing a cave with; this one was larger, older, and depicted as rampaging.

He frowned at the scroll, mystified. “Are there more like this?”

The wyvern watched him through narrowed eyes, but gave him no reaction. He wasn’t foolish enough to go digging through her hoard, so he turned his gaze back to the scroll. It had to be a Northern language; here and there he could see characters he recognized from the Drachman alphabet, but there was no telling if they meant the same thing in this language. He reached for his journal, but stopped not wanting to waste pages.

He watched the low flames, until inspiration struck. Carefully, he extracted a stick from the edge of the fire, shaking it until the flame went out. He began copying the familiar letters onto the rock wall with the charcoal edge of the stick. Embers flew, and he jumped, dropping the stick. The wyvern was watching him with a look that said, all too plainly, _idiot_.

He chuckled sheepishly, “I guess I should let that cool a bit.”

She snorted.

He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye as he stooped to lift the stick again. “A lot of the sand dragons could write, you know.” He continued transcribing the familiar characters. “Not words, exactly, but glyphs. You seem a lot smarter than they were, but,” he looked around the cave, “I don’t see any hieroglyphics.”

She was glaring at him, but she also looked faintly puzzled.

“Glyphs are just pictures,” he explained. She snorted. “Like this-” he sketched out the symbol for a dragon and she stared, “see? This could be you.” He drew a rough sketch of himself, complete with spiky hair, “and this could be me.”

She blinked at him, thoroughly unimpressed. He sighed. “Alright, I guess I was just imagining your intelligence.” He watched her, but she didn’t go for the bait, instead she picked up what was probably a very expensive jewel and turned it in her claws. Her wings rustled and Miles frowned.

“That really doesn’t look good.” He stepped forward, unthinking, and she reared back, wings flapping powerfully, barbed tail swinging, and a dangerous snarl warning him away.

He crouched, shielding himself from the wind generated by her wings. “I’m sorry! I won’t try to touch you, I promise!”

She landed again--there wasn’t that much vertical height in the cave anyway--and curled around herself, glaring at him over the spikes in her tail which was covering her face.

“I’m sorry,” he said again, as he slowly, carefully, rose, “it’s just it looks infected.” He sighed when she continued glaring at him. “Do you mind if I look around a little?” Her face didn’t change, so he pulled a lantern from his pack, lit it, and chose a small offshoot at random.

As soon as he was out of sight of the wyvern, he slumped against a cold wall, exhaling shakily. He hadn’t wanted to appear weak in front of a creature that he had seen take out a bear, but she’d frightened him.

For several minutes, he heard nothing but the pounding of his own heart, and his shaky breaths. A soft, persistent rushing--almost like water--reached his ears, he listened for a minute, before the implications reached him. Water. He’d been dreading going out into the snow when his canteen emptied, and an underground spring would solve his problem.

He followed the sound down the weaving corridor, until it opened up into another cavern. It wasn’t as large as the main cave, but an underground river ran through it. He knelt at the edge and experimentally scooped out a handful. It was unbelievably cold, but it was fresh and clean. He drank gratefully, and then sat back to look around.

His lantern cast long shadows as he turned it this way and that. The light beam fell across what he had mistaken for a boulder in his perfunctory look, but revealed itself to be a large copper washtub. The base was scorched and he realized with some surprise that it was sitting in an ash pit. Someone, much smaller than a wyvern, bathed there.

“I didn’t imagine her, then.” He remarked, and his voice echoed in the cavern. He rubbed the back of his neck, frustrated. “Where is she?”

A rustling had him whirling around. The wyvern glided out from another opening in the wall. She stopped in the entrance and regarded him.

“Was I gone too long?”

She ignored him, crossing to the river. He thought she would stoop to drink, but it must have been much deeper than he thought because she dove straight in, gliding gracefully into the inky depths. He got to his knees and clambered to the bank, holding up his lantern, but it was no use; she was far too deep to see. Then all at once, he saw a shape moving upward, growing larger and larger and by the second before she shot out, splashing Miles magnificently in the process.

He leapt back, “Aagh! That’s cold!” She landed beside him and he had only a moment’s notice, before she shook the water off like a dog, and doused him even more thoroughly. “Do you want me to freeze to death?”

She opened her mouth, and he froze, not sure whether he was expecting to be burnt alive or if she might actually be about to speak. (Later, he would dismiss the idea as ludicrous.) But, she only exhaled slowly, hot breath drying his clothes almost immediately.

“Oh,” he blinked, “thank you.”

She turned and slowly extended her wing. He was right, four red lines ran the length of her wing, purplish infection spreading out around them.

“Do you-” he stepped forward cautiously, “do you actually want me to look at this now?”

She tilted her head toward him and then the water.

“I see.” He fumbled in his pockets and found a handkerchief. “I’m sorry, if I’d known, I would have brought something more helpful.” He dipped it in the river water and turned back to her. He swallowed nervously, and she shuffled a little closer.

He had expected her wing to feel a bit like cowhide, but it was as soft and delicate as kid leather. He smiled in spite of himself; in all the time he had spent around the sand dragons he’d only gotten close enough to touch a few times. There were whole colonies of them, and they cared for each other in tight-knit family groups. A sudden pang went through him.

“You’re all alone, aren’t you?”

She narrowed her eyes, and a slight growl rumbled in her chest.

He bowed over his work, cleaning the wound, and murmuring soft apologies as the scabs scraped open. He reached into his pocket again and pulled out a foul-smelling bottle of a root oil Buccaneer had given him after the third time he’d fallen and scraped his hands open.

“I am sorry,” he murmured, uncorking it, “but this is going to sting a bit.”

She hissed at him, a forked tongue darting out between sharp teeth, but held still.

“I know, I’m sorry.” He patted a little more on, and then stepped back. “There. All done.”

She eyed him warily, refolding her wing. He reached for the lantern he’d set down, but she gripped it between her teeth and lifted it high above his head. Without a backward glance, she set off the way she had come, and Miles hastened to follow. The path she had chosen was wider and straighter, but also steeper. Miles clambered after her, panting, envious of her easy grace.

\---

Somehow, it had gotten colder. Miles climbed back into the smelly furs with his journal and the scroll to write his observations about the wyvern. The dragon in question rekindled the embers of the small firepit back into flames. Miles’ eyes grew heavier and heavier as he wrote, and he remembered thinking vaguely that perhaps he should close them.

A movement against his back had them snapping wide open again. Cold hands were warming themselves on his back. Goosebumps erupted on his arms. “You’re back.”

“I am,” she acknowledged, in the same rough voice from before. “But don’t get any weird ideas.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” Miles shivered, “do you think you could shift a little?”

She gave him a shove between the shoulder blades. “Didn’t I tell you not to get weird ideas?”

Miles blushed furiously, “I just meant your hands are freezing.”

“Tch!” She sounded exasperated, but she slid her hands under another layer of fur to dilute the cold a bit.

“Thank you.” Miles bit his lip. “I’m Miles, by the way.”

“Alright.”

“Do you have a name?”

“I used to.”

“Oh.” He considered this, “what do you mean ‘used to’? Who are you?”

“I am her.”

Miles’ brow furrowed, “her who?”

“She is me. But, we are not the same.”

“Wait, what?” He started to sit up, but once again, was shoved back down.

“I told you not to look at me!”

“Right, sorry.”

“Tch!” They lay in silence for a long minute, before she spoke again. “Why are you so nosy?”

“I don’t mean to be,” he blushed, “I’m a scholar. I want to include the wyvern in the anthology I’m writing. She’s a magnificent creature. I’m sorry if I’m intruding, I didn’t know there were any humans here.”

“Magnificent?”

“She’s so powerful, and graceful. I watched her fly a lot before the blizzard shut me in here. Have you ever seen her in flight?”

“I can’t say that I have, no.” Her voice was evening out the longer she spoke, and he detected a note of something like amusement in it.

“Oh.” He was quiet for a minute, but he couldn’t help but ask another question, “why do you only come out when I’m asleep?”

“If I came out while you were awake you might see my face.”

“Why would that be a bad thing?”

“Do you ever stop talking?!”

He fell silent. Time moved strangely in the mountains, or perhaps it was the blizzard, because in what was either hours or moments--he could never be sure--he was waking alone again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> Please let me know what you think. Comments are basically virtual hugs. :)


	3. The Calm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's another chapter for you all! I'm sorry to say, it's shorter and not as good (I don't think). I wrote the first two chapters during my fall break, and the past few months I've noticed a definite difference between my writing abilities during school and not. I hope you enjoy any way.
> 
> Happy reading!

Time continued to run strangely, and Miles ate, slept, and journaled at indeterminate intervals. Finally and suddenly the blizzard stopped. The quiet after howling wind for so long was almost deafening.

The wyvern slithered out of the narrow entrance and Miles followed her, curiously. The snow was thick and deep and he didn’t dare leave the area she had compressed. She took off, soaring straight up, and then spinning. She looked positively gleeful.

Miles stared entranced as she soared in circles around the mountain peak. She dipped and swooped scanning the ground for prey. Apparently, none had come out of hiding yet, because before long she dropped down beside him and slouched back into the cave.

He took several deep breaths enjoying the cold crisp air, before making his way back inside. She was digging in her treasure mound, shoving it around and he watched her, perplexed, until she turned--rather like a dog--and then fell onto her bed with an unmistakable sigh.

Everyday she went out to hunt, but the snow continued to fall in soft blankets, and she usually returned with only small prey. Very little changed, except that Miles now had a marker for how long he spent trapped in the cave.

“What can you tell me about the wyvern?” He asked on one of the occasions that the woman joined him.

“Hmm?” He was wide awake, watching the flames throw dancing shadows on the cave wall, but her voice was foggy with sleep.

“What do you know about her?”

“You’re the scholar.”

“I know, but I haven’t been here very long.”

“If I tell you where to find more of those scrolls will you let me sleep in peace?”

“So there are more!”

“Mmm. Look in the old trunk behind the saddle.”

“Thank you! I really hope I can understand them-”

“You said you were going to let me sleep in peace!”

“Right. Sorry. Goodnight.” Miles continued staring at the cave wall as she began to snore beside him. He was frustrated; he’d begun to form theories about her, but he could never get her to talk long enough to bring them up.

She tossed in her sleep (a habit that had yielded bruised shins for Miles) and long hair sprawled over his face. He reached up to brush it away and then reconsidered, holding the locks up to see. Spun gold, the poetic part of his brain filled in as he examined it. The urge to turn and look at her nearly overwhelmed him, but he shoved it aside, letting the locks slip through his fingers. Frustrating or not, he wasn’t going to violate her trust by taking what she had expressly denied him.

\---

Buccaneer glared out the window of the base camp cabin. He hated being around dragon hunters, and was already itching to get out of there. The blizzard had finally stopped, but he wasn’t foolish enough to try setting out until he was sure it wouldn’t start up again.

He hoped he’d made the right decision sending Miles to Olivier’s cave. The fur should have carried enough of his scent to prevent her from attacking him in her dragon form, but he didn’t know how she would react when she turned. He trusted Miles well enough, and Olivier was capable of defending herself in both her forms, but her social skills were...lacking. Coming from him, he knew that was saying something.

And then there was the inherent danger if Miles dared look at her. He didn’t doubt that Olivier would ward him off, but the scholar was an inherently curious person. It was decidedly possible that he wouldn’t be able to help himself. Buccaneer scowled at the gently swirling snowflakes. He didn’t like to overthink things, but trapped with a group of hunters, he had precious little else to occupy him.

“Hey, hey!”

He glanced over to see a long-haired hunter trying to catch his eye. “What?”

“You’ve been doing this a long time, right?” At his nod, he (she? Buccaneer realized he wasn’t actually sure) continued, “you probably know a lot about the wyvern, right? More than you’re telling us?”

“Not especially.” Buccaneer suddenly hoped the strange person was a man, already feeling his cheeks heat, “I know she’s almost impossible to kill.”

“So she’s violent?”

“That isn’t what I said. She’s tough and defensive, that’s different.”

“So, you’re saying it isn’t true that she ate a little girl almost twenty years ago? Because, that’s not what her parents are saying; the reward they’ve offered is astronomical.”

Buccaneer frowned, “it would be impossible to say if that little girl was truly consumed or not.”

“Hmm.”

Buccaneer turned away, shaking his head.

\---

The wyvern’s latest hunt had yielded a caribou and she tore into it, devouring over half of it before stopping. Miles pointedly looked away, disgusted. He couldn’t help but feel guilty, though, realizing she had likely been eating far less than she should to ensure he had enough.

She pushed some toward him, and he murmured his thanks without making eye contact--her teeth were full of blood and fur--and set to work cooking.

A low growl startled him from his work. The wyvern was watching the entrance to the cave intently. She rose slowly and stalked toward the opening.

“What is it?”

She turned and growled at him. He froze, but she abruptly headbutted him, not hard, but enough to get him up and scrabbling away. She tilted her head toward the old trunk, and he crouched behind it. This seemed to satisfy her and she loped back to watch the entrance.

As she listened, Miles prodded the old trunk idly. He had found more scrolls in there, but they were all in the same Northern language as the first and he hadn’t been able to analyze them yet.

She growled again and he peered over the trunk. Buccaneer was standing in the entrance way. Miles swallowed nervously at the rage that was emanating from her. Buccaneer only laughed.

“Hey, there. Wake up on the wrong side of the treasure trove?” He chuckled and extended a hand to pat her head. She snorted and turned away. “Aw, you know you love me.”

Miles climbed out from his hiding place. “Buccaneer!”

“Miles!” Buccaneer grinned at him. “I was afraid she’d eaten you!”

“What happened with the hunters?”

“Oh, they’re still at a camp halfway down the mountain. It’s not safe enough for inexperienced travelers yet. I’m glad you didn’t try to leave here on your own.”

Miles nodded, “I’m nowhere near ready to leave yet. I have so much to learn! There are some scrolls I really want you to look at if-”

Buccaneer cut him off with a laugh, “hold up. It’s a long hike up here, let me sit down and rest a bit.”

“Of course.” Miles stepped back to let Buccaneer sit by the fire, but the big man scrambled up the gold pile and settled himself against the wyvern who glared, but didn’t throw him off.

Miles stared in spite of himself. “Well,” he said when he overcame his shock, “we have some caribou if you’d like.”

\---

Settling in for the night was rather awkward, but eventually Miles and Buccaneer found a way to share the furs without being too uncomfortable. Miles drifted to sleep under the wyvern’s watchful eye and woke when cold air blew over him; he’d been expecting it to some extent, and stayed still as the woman crawled in between them. He had wondered where she would settle, and felt a pleasant feeling of warmth fluttered unexpectedly in his stomach when she draped an arm over him, pressing herself against his back. Before long, her breaths settled into an even rhythm, puffs of air pulsating between his shoulder blades.

“Buccaneer?” Miles received a grunt in response, and continued, trying not to speak loud enough to wake the woman snoring gently between them, “the woman--she’s the wyvern isn’t she?”

Buccaneer chuckled tiredly. “I knew you were a smart one.” He yawned, “her name’s Olivier, by the way.”

He nodded, “I thought so. But, she told me she didn’t have a name.”

Buccaneer drew a sharp breath, “you didn’t look at her, did you?”

Miles snorted. “No, I didn’t. You aren’t going to tell me she’s also a gorgon, are you?”

“No, but if you had looked, you would have to stay forever.”

Miles rolled his eyes, even though he knew Buccaneer couldn’t see him. “Point taken.” He was silent for a minute, thinking. “Have you seen her?”

Buccaneer didn’t respond for so long, Miles thought he’d fallen asleep, but then he said quietly, “yes, I have. She’s beautiful.”

Miles smiled at the warmth in his tone. “How long have you known her?”

“Long enough. Now be quiet before you wake her; she’s cranky when she’s tired.”

Buccaneer lay awake long after Miles fell asleep. His fingers ghosted over the place where his prosthetic arm met flesh. He’d long since made his peace with it, but he sometimes still felt pangs of anger when he thought about how foolish he’d been.

He rolled over, watching the petite woman sleep. She’d taken his arm, true, but he’d done far worse. In bits and pieces, he’d taken her name, her humanity, her _soul_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The plot thickens. *dramatic music*
> 
> Thanks for reading! 
> 
> Again, sorry for the brevity/low quality. As always, please let me know what you think. :)


	4. A Great Regret

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's another chapter for you all! 
> 
> Happy reading!

_In retrospect, he’d blame the hot-headed arrogance of youth, but at the time he’d considered it righteous anger. The mountain was flooded with Amestrian hunters with no regard for his people, their beliefs, or their customs. They believed a simple people couldn’t possibly take on a fierce beast like the wyvern. And, as far as he could tell, they were right._

_The elders prattled about sacred mountain and her blessings, but all he saw was weakness and cowardice. They were being disrespected, and the elders would take it all with gentle smiles. It left him with a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach._

_He’d taken a crossbow and his best hunting spear. He’d tracked her for days, finally getting close enough on a particularly cold, clear night. She’d swooped and glided like an overgrown bat against the colorful backdrop of the lights. He’d taken a moment to watch the bands of green and purple, taking them as a sign from the spirits that he was doing the right thing._

_He wasn’t one of the better crossbow handlers in the tribe, that was true. Nevertheless, his quarrel had pierced her tail. He’d heard her scream even from the ground, and the sound haunted his nightmares for years to come._

_Buccaneer followed her erratic spiral to the ground and found her scrabbling at some rocky boulders, as though she were trying to burrow into them. He set aside the crossbow and hefted the spear. She turned away from the boulders and growled at him, crouching low to the ground._

_He ducked, expecting to feel claws at any moment, but she didn’t pounce. He straightened to find huge blue eyes watching him, curiously. He froze, spear in the air. She rose slightly, and he tensed. She moved towards him, and a combination of fear and anger burned in his belly and he struck._

_She roared and reared back, his spear clattering against the rocks. She swung her tail at him and he leapt forward again, the quarrel still in her tail caught on a rock, and she screamed again stumbling backward. He lunged at her and he only had a second to register the glint of her teeth before his shoulder was encased in searing pain. He staggered back and stared in numb shock at the bloody arm clenched in the wyvern’s teeth. He swayed in place, stars bursting in his vision. The world spun and vanished into blackness._

_He had no sense of time or dimension, only pain and cold. And then heat, as a fever ravaged his body. He was dimly aware of something cool pressed against his forehead, and his eyes opened halfway._

_Bright blue eyes were watching him and his first hazy thought was the wyvern. He jerked up, but small hands pushed his shoulders back down. It couldn’t be the wyvern anyway, he realized dimly, because the eyes belonged to a pale human face, framed by gold hair. He slipped back into darkness._

_He felt, vaguely, fingers tending his wounds and replacing the cool compress on his forehead, and was aware of little else until he was waking to his mother’s worried face._

_“You’re awake!”_

_“Wha-ugh-” he coughed, and she brought a glass of water to his lips and helped him drink. “How did I get here?”_

_His mother bit her lip._

_“That beautiful creature brought you here.” Buccaneer turned to blink at the Elder, a tiny woman who gave him a dark look over her pipe, “saved your life, after you tried to end hers.”_

_Buccaneer nodded, a feeling of cold shame in the pit of his stomach._

_“You know our laws.”_

_He nodded again._

_Pinako sighed quietly, touched his shoulder--the one with the arm still attached--and took another puff of her pipe. “You’ll have enough time to heal, and then you’ll have to sojourn.” She glanced across the room to meet his mother’s eye. “Don’t look so despairing, when he’s ready, he can come home again.”_

\---

Buccaneer unrolled the scrolls under Miles’ eagerly watchful gaze. “I’ll tell you what I can work out, but I don’t want you to expect too much; I’ve looked at these before and couldn’t make heads or tails of them.”

“I have a few ideas, but I can only get a few pieces here and there. Anything you can offer would help.”

Buccaneer sighed as he ran his finger over a line of text. “This is in an ancient language, most say it’s been lost. I tried showing a bit to my tribe’s Elder, but all she was able to tell me was that it’s dark magic.”

Miles’ brow furrowed, “I’m not familiar with dark magic. Only natural magic, like-”

“Sand dragons?” Buccaneer guessed, chuckling. Miles shrugged, blushing. “It’s a good thing, really. I think there are some wise women in Drachma who still practice, but it’s illegal in the main country, and the great taboo here.”

“Is-” Miles reached for a scroll tied with a red ribbon, “this one-”

Buccaneer went red to the tips of his ears. “I ‘spect it is,” he said gruffly, “can’t say that I’ve looked at it closely, though.”

Miles unrolled it, feeling a blush creep across his own features. The scroll had originally caught his attention for having a different color ribbon. It was cleaner and less rumpled than the others which he had taken as a sign of value. The top was adorned with an elaborate drawing of a wyvern, but beneath that were medical drawings of a human figure with arms outstretched. A _female_ human figure and he’d snapped it shut without looking any further.

He rolled the top again, covering the offensive drawing. Beneath it were more sketches, thankfully of bones and nothing more embarrassing, but they were shown in various stages of contortion and breakage and his stomach churned. He rolled a little further and showed Buccaneer the text beneath.

“Anything you can understand from here, if you don’t mind?”

Buccaneer nodded, and they both avoided eye contact, red-faced.

The wyvern--Olivier, Miles reminded himself--gave a snort from her perch on her trove, and pointedly rolled her eyes at them.

“I recognize this here,” Buccaneer sounded surprised, as he pointed at the swirling script, “it’s Woman-”

“I got that, thanks.”

Buccaneer glared, “no. I mean, a Wise Woman who practices dark magic in Drachman tradition.”

“Why is that surprising? You said this was all dark magic.”

“It’s a different word in Drachman. Um,” Buccaneer glanced up from the scroll, thoughtfully, “it doesn’t translate, exactly, but it’s the difference between a casual user, and a, well, we would say witch.”

“Ah.” Miles nodded, but stared expectantly at Buccaneer. “What about this witch, then?”

Buccaneer frowned at the text, “I’m not sure. This doesn’t seem to be about the witch at all, I think it might be about the curse victim.” He pointed at a line of text, “this is definitely the word for dragon, and I think this is ‘change’.”

“Couldn’t the one changing be the witch? I mean, couldn’t she-” he hesitated, but his red eyes darted toward the wyvern.

Olivier snarled suddenly, scattering gold and gems as she leapt at him. He froze, as she glared down at him, teeth bared. For a long moment their eyes were locked, and he could scarcely draw a breath.

“I’m sorry, Olivier,” he murmured reaching a cautious hand up to touch her scaly face. It was soft, like a snake, not at all the tough hide he’d imagined. “I wasn’t thinking. Of course you’re not a witch.”

She stared, unblinking, for another long minute before leaning her head down to press against his chest, her eyes closing as she did so.

Miles glanced nervously at Buccaneer, who was staring in obvious awe. “She’s accepting your apology.”

“Oh.” Miles ran a hand over the crest on her head, and then dared to touch a golden horn, “thank you, Olivier.”

She pulled away and as she began sweeping her treasures back together, Buccaneer muttered “yeah, yeah. Forgive him right away, but if _I_ accidentally eat the last-”

Olivier silenced him with a glare.

\---

Olivier studied her face in the shimmering surface of the river. It wasn’t something she felt prompted to do often, usually avoiding it, because long stretches of silence and darkness did strange things to her reflection, or at least her perception of it. But, she’d been finding herself at the river’s edge more and more often each time she turned. Or turned back. It got harder and harder to remember which she was first: dragon or human.

As a child, her mother had always told her she was pretty. She couldn’t help but wonder if she would still think so. She was dirty, her hair tangled, and her clothes were nothing more than tattered hand-me downs from Buccaneer covered with a loosely stitched fur cape. She had no skill with a needle and thread, and Buccaneer was far too bashful to set foot in a women’s clothing shop, but her body was covered and moderately warm, so she never worried too much.

She knew it was a pointless venture, but she opened her mouth and murmured, “my name is O-” her mouth kept moving, but her throat closed up and no sound escaped. Her chest constricted, and she gasped. She drew a steadying breath and glared down at her reflection.

Footsteps in the tunnel had her scrambling to her feet, not wanting to be caught in the act of admiring her own reflection.

“Oh! I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you were here!” The voice belonged to Miles, and not Buccaneer as she had assumed. She let out a startled yelp and pulled the hood of her ratty old cape over her head. “I can go-” he hesitated awkwardly. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not. You’re shivering.” She hadn’t noticed, but she realized he was right. Her bare feet peeking out from under her cloak were tinged blue, and she couldn’t feel them anymore. “Do you have shoes?”

“No.”

“Socks at least?” Her silence must have been answer enough, because he exhaled slowly, “you-” he seemed at a loss, but she didn’t understand why. “What are you wearing?”

She felt heat in her cheeks, and drew her cape closer to herself, “what’s it to you?”

“Who am I going to study if you freeze to death?”

“Why you-!”

“Here.” He held out a hand, “I’ll close my eyes, but come back to the main cave, there’s still a fire going. You can sit by it and warm up, and I’ll get you something warmer to wear.”

“You go. I told you, I’m fine.”

“And I told you you’re not.” He extended his hand a little further, “you’re not invincible, Olivier.” She glanced at him, but didn’t react. “You’re only human, it’s okay to accept help sometimes.” His hands were warm as they closed around her shaking fingers.

“If you’re going to have your eyes closed you’d better let me lead. You’ll get us killed.”

She knew her sense weren’t that good, even in her dragon form, but she could swear she could _hear_ him smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! 
> 
> I hope this chapter wasn't too confusing. As always please let me know what you think. :)


	5. A Decision

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy reading!

The main cavern was warmer, and Olivier perched on the old trunk while Miles added wood to the fire, She didn’t remember refilling the wood pile, but she must have gone with Buccaneer because the wood was torn and splintered rather than sawed.

Miles rustled in his luggage and set a pile of clothing out for her. He settled down near the fire with his back still to her. “I’m afraid they’re not the nicest,” he told her apologetically, “but they should be warmer than, well, whatever it is you’d call your outfit.”

Olivier shrugged off her cape and began tugging on the new clothes. While Miles was still quite a bit taller than her, he was far closer in size to her than Buccaneer was and the clothes were a much better fit. She wiggled her toes in the wool socks and tried to remember what had happened to the last several pairs Buccaneer had given her. She curled up beside the fire, her back against Miles’ and she felt him jolt as though surprised.

“Do you mind talking for a while?”

“Why?”

“I don’t usually get to talk to you when you’re not trying to sleep,” he explained, “I’m curious about the woman who shares my bed almost every night, but won’t even tell me her name.”

“I can’t explain anything.” She could feel the magic closing her throat like tendrils wrapping around her lungs at the mere thought.

“That’s alright.” He was smiling again, she was sure. “Have you lived here long?”

“Fifteen winters.”

“Ah. Do you like it?”

“I don’t know,” she shrugged, “it’s safe enough, and there’s water and shelter. It’s very practical, especially for her.”

“You say her, like you’re a separate entity.”

“Not separate, necessarily, but different.” Miles gave an understanding hum, and waited patiently. “She’s a part of me. Simpler, wilder, but still me, I think. She doesn’t think in the same ways, doesn’t remember everything from when we’re human.”

“Do you remember everything about being her?”

She shook her head, hair rustling against his coat, “I remember images and impressions, sometimes words, but I forget things a lot. I don’t think it’s her fault, though, I was-” she fell silent, gasping.

“It’s alright.” Miles’ hand reached around to take her’s again. “You don’t have to explain: I understand.” He rubbed his thumb across the back of her hand absently, “do you remember flying? I’ve always wondered what that would be like.”

“It’s wonderful. All the way up there, you can look around for miles and see nothing but snow, and everything is black and white.”

“Is it as freeing as it sounds?”

“Yes, except when there are hunters around.”

“Is that what happened to your wing? Before I first came, I mean?”

“Ah, no. That was when she was hunting. She caught a bear, but she was playing with her food, and got hurt.” She sounded slightly embarrassed, and Miles squeezed her hand reassuringly.

“Are there others like Buccaneer?”

“He has a tribe.”

Miles chuckled at her confused tone, “no, I meant friends. You know, others who know who you really are.”

“Oh. No, just the one.”

“Two.”

“What?”

He gave her hand another gentle squeeze, “there’s two of us now.”

\---

The wall was covered in translations and they were making Buccaneer’s head spin. Miles had unrolled all the scrolls and somehow attached them to the cave walls (a piece of paper from his notebook covered the anatomical drawings, but Buccaneer still blushed when he looked at it), and beside each scroll Miles was writing in charcoal.

“Why do these scrolls matter so much?” Buccaneer asked as he corrected Miles’ lopsided Drachman character. “We already know Olivier is a dragon.”

Miles glared at him, “if we can understand how and why, maybe we can help her.”

“Have you asked her if she wants to be human again? There are a lot of good things about wyvern.”

“I’m not saying we have to change her, but she chokes every time she tries to talk about the curse, or even say her own name. I can’t even imagine how hard that would be.”

Buccaneer looked properly abashed, and returned to his own translation. He turned the charcoal in his metal fingers, deliberating. At last the set it down and turned to Miles, “look. There’s something you should know.”

At the somber tone, Miles set down his own charcoal and watched Buccaneer curiously. “I’m listening.”

“The reason behind her name-” Buccaneer cleared his throat, uncharacteristically uncertain, and Miles folded his arms, “it’s my fault.”

Whatever Miles had been expecting, that wasn’t it. He lowered his arms uncertainly, “w-what?”

“When I met her, we were both young and I didn't understand-”

“What did you do?” There was a deadly edge to Miles’ voice, and his red eyes glinted with rage.

“What didn’t I do? I thought the wyvern was a monster, and when I learned the truth, I never thought through the consequences of coming here. I made her show me her face, to tell me her name. She was naive, she trusted me and then I-” Miles’ jaw was set, and his fingers had balled into fists, “I left.”

Olivier headbutted Buccaneer from behind and he staggered. He turned toward her, and she pressed her head against him, nuzzling his chest gently. He bowed his head and whispered to her so quietly Miles couldn’t hear.

She growled, but it was quiet, low in her throat, and there was no danger in it.

“She never lets me apologize.” Buccaneer looked up, meeting Miles’ angry gaze steadily, “she always tells me it’s worth it, and I don’t know if I believe her, but I keep coming back.”

“I believe her.” Miles relaxed again and gently ran a hand down the wyvern’s neck, “dragons are social creatures,” he sighed, “and so are humans. She’s all alone. Having someone to talk to, even part of the time, probably helps her stay sane.”

Buccaneer was mirroring his actions, metal fingers clattering as the tips brushed the spines on her back. Olivier was practically melting, reminding Miles of a contented cat. He dared to run his hand down to her wing, which he stroked with feather-light touches.

“Miles,” Buccaneer spoke with sudden severity, “you can’t stay much longer.”

“Why not?” Miles blinked in surprised, as Olivier stretched her wings for more.

“She trusts you. If you stay she’ll give you too much, and you’ll only hurt her more.”

Miles glared, all the rage from before back in his dark red eyes. “You don’t own her, Buccaneer. She’s capable of making her own decisions.”

Olivier gave another low rumbling growl and curled her long neck to glare back at them. They both murmured quiet apologies.

“I’m sorry. I’m letting my own guilt cloud my judgement.”

Miles nodded, “I understand, but I’m not going to give up on her just yet. Not unless she tells me she wants me to leave.”

Olivier, apparently satisfied they’d made up, slipped out from between them and with a flap of her wings threw herself down onto her treasure.

They turned back to their translations in silence until Miles asked, “do you know why she was cursed?”

Buccaneer shook his head, “she was never able to tell me. It was a facet of the curse, I think. She was able to tell me her name at first, but after I left and came back-” he shook his head with an air of finality and Miles dropped the subject.

\---

Buccaneer wasn’t at all surprised when he was shaken awake by Olivier. He sat up groggily, and glanced over his shoulder to ensure Miles was still sleeping before following her into a narrow burrow.

She crossed her arms and glared up at him from behind her hair. “What was that about, earlier?”

“A combination of guilt and over-protectiveness.”

“You have nothing to feel guilty for, and I do not need your protection.”

“I can’t speak to the guilt, but I did try to tell him the rest.”

Olivier and Buccaneer both jumped and turned to see Miles leaning against the entrance to the burrow. His eyes were closed, but he had a slight smile on his face, his hair and clothes were sleep rumpled. Olivier swallowed and glanced away, her cheeks slightly pink, and Buccaneer smirked.

“It did make me think, though, if he’s right, Olivier, I can go. I have enough to satisfy my financier and my sketches will make for handsome additions to my anthology. I’ll not tell your secrets. If you’re better off without me, I’ll leave you in peace.”

“Nonsense, Miles.” Olivier shook her head, “I value your company, your perspective,” she hesitated, “of course, if you wish to leave, I will make no attempt to stop you.”

“I’ll be heading down the mountain soon,” Buccaneer added, “so you’ll have safe passage back.”

“I’d like to stay, if you really don’t mind.” Miles smiled charmingly at the wall, and Buccaneer stifled a snort, receiving a swift shin kick from Olivier.

“Then it’s decided.” Olivier took Miles’ hand, and without preamble, began leading him back to the main cavern, “now come here, I want to see if that wing massage thing works in this form.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! 
> 
> Hopefully, this wasn't over-explanatory. I had to move the plot along to make things work, so here we are. 
> 
> As always, comments make me so happy. :)


	6. In Harm's Way

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I (finally) have a new chapter for you all. Happy reading!

She watched Buc’s journey down the snowy mountainside until he was a speck too small for even her sharp eyes to see, before crawling back into the cavern. The smaller human was still there, poring over his scrolls. Not his. The ones that belonged to  _ her.  _ He looked up and smiled when she bowed her head to look. 

Smiled. That was something like his name, wasn’t it? She couldn’t remember. Never could, not like this. Words, names, memories, those were all foggy and muddled, best left for  _ her _ . He said something which sounded warm and kind. She rubbed her face against his back, and knocked him face first onto the work-surface he’d erected for himself. 

Embarrassed, she retreated to the security of her trove. Her treasure rustled and clanked as he scrambled up after her. She glared at him for daring to trespass on her treasure, but she couldn’t bring herself to stay angry when he rubbed her neck and gently massaged her wings. 

He spoke quietly to her, and she couldn’t understand his words, but she understood his meaning in flashes and feelings.  _ Safety. Trust. Warmth. Happy. Happy? Yes, happy!  _

She nuzzled him again and he chuckled. His hands came to rest on either side of her face and he stepped back. He was speaking again, but he seemed puzzled. She didn’t understand and tilted her head to watch him. He smiled, and then reached up to touch the one malformed little horn in the center of her crest. He chuckled as he traced it’s curling shape and hot indignation flashed through her. 

Her head found the center of his chest, hard. She watched with smug satisfaction as he slipped and flailed on his earthbound tumble. He beamed good naturedly up at her upon landing, and she turned away, curling into a ball and pulling a wing over her head for good measure. 

\---

When Miles was sure Olivier wasn’t going to unfurl herself he turned his attention back to his notes. There was a large face-shaped smudge on one and he sighed, setting to work retranscribing it. He was nearly out of ink and knew he could only dilute it so many more times before it was a lost cause. He’d sent a list with Buccaneer of more supplies to bring him, and it was just a matter of waiting it out. The guide had said he’d be gone about a month and then they’d have about a month of warm enough weather before they would need to head back and wait out the winter in North City. 

He’d asked what Olivier would do while they were gone and Buccaneer had looked at him like he was in idiot before replying  _ “hibernate”  _ as though it were obvious. Miles had nodded his understanding, but the concept bothered him. He’d never known the sand dragons to hibernate, but then it was a lot warmer in Ishval. Further, she didn’t seem to be able to hold either form for more than a week at most, and hibernating a week at a time and then living as a human for a week didn’t sound like a healthy way to get by. 

He rubbed his forehead in frustration and with a sigh retrieved the scroll describing the transformation. With a lot of persuasion he’d been able to get Buccaneer to translate sections of it, but it hadn’t provided him with any clearer a picture. Try as he might to avoid it, his eyes were drawn like magnets to a diagram of a spinal cord expanding, the rib cage stretching, spines erupting and wings unfurling. It looked hellishly painful, and he ran a finger over the inscription beneath it. Buccaneer had told him it was pain “or something like it, Drachman has at least seventeen words for it” but he thought suddenly that that wasn’t it at all. 

He took several steps back from the wall, scanning it for recurrences of the same word. After a moment his eyes settled on the right one, their translations scrawled in uneven charcoal: “Thief” “Cursed” and--there it was--not “Pain”, as they’d written, but punishment. The curse wasn’t arbitrary, then, it was a punishment. 

Miles felt a rush of giddiness at the sudden breakthrough, but as quickly as it came, it vanished. He glanced over at the sleeping wyvern, “Ishvala,” he muttered, “Olivier, what on earth did you steal?”

\---

She was clingier than usual, her chin digging into his shoulder, her arms vice-like around his waist. Miles leaned back into her, and she made no complaints.    

“Olivier?” 

“Is everything alright?” 

She hesitated, not long, but enough. “Yes. Why?”

“You’re not usually so...close.”

“Oh.” He could hear the confusion in her voice and knew he’d have to be more clear, “I can move-”

“No.” He put his arm on the one around his waist, “please don’t. That isn’t what I meant.” He paused, thinking over his words, “usually you treat me more like a hot water bottle--you want to be close enough for warmth, but not necessarily  _ close _ \--and tonight, you seem like you need comfort.” He felt her anger as a wave of stiffness traveled through her. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean any offense. I just thought if there’s any way I could help-?” He trailed off, giving her time to think.

“No. There’s nothing you can do.” She moved to roll away, but Miles’ hand stopped her. He didn’t hold her down, or try to prevent her from moving, but his fingers wove their way through hers. They weren’t soft, but they were warm, his long thin fingers, calloused and, like the skin on the backs of his hands, splitting open.  

“Could I ask you a question?”

“You seem capable.”

He rolled his eyes, “you’re always quick with the attitude, aren’t you?”

“Is that your question?”

He snorted at that, “you’re incorrigible.” He heard her huff against his back, and continued, “what I wanted to ask you was, do you remember being cursed? I know you can’t talk about it,” he hastened to clarify, “but do you remember it yourself?”

“Yes.” 

“Was it painful?”

Her arms tightened, muscles clenching seemingly unintentionally, “why do you ask?”

“I just-” he paused, considering his words carefully, “are you suffering? I keep looking at those scrolls and it looks like agony.”

She was quiet for a long time, her body shifting to, somehow, press even closer to him. “It hurts every time, but that first time was the worst. I didn’t know what was happening.” 

“I can’t even imagine.”

“Talk about something else, I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”

“Alright.” Miles thought for a minute, “what do you want to talk about?”

“Buccaneer always tells me about what he does and who he sees while he’s gone. My favorite is the fat man that owns the candy store.”

“Hmm, I don’t know him. Where I grew up we had a general store which had a few barrels of candy. The owner wasn’t very nice, though, he’d glare at you if you stood too close, and if you hadn’t already payed for your candy he’d hit your hands away.”

“Did you ever hit him back?”

Miles laughed, “a scrawny little Ishvalan kid in East City? I didn’t have a death wish!”

“No?”

He frowned at the tone, “Do you have one?” 

“Not anymore.” 

“Oh.” He had no response for that.

“Mmhm. Who else?”

“Do I know?” He frowned thoughtfully, “well, a lot of people, I suppose. For one, there’s my mother. Her name’s Ida and she’s the sweetest person you’ve ever met-”

“I’ve never met her.”

He stifled a laugh, but she felt it rumbling in his chest, “it’s just a figure of speech. If you  _ did  _ meet her, you’d think she was really nice, is all.” She hummed an acknowledgement and he continued, “she’s not very tall, a little taller than you, maybe. She has curly black hair, and big brown eyes. She’s not always great about remembering that her kids are adults, not that she’s pushy, but she fusses over us--musses our hair, reminds us to mind our manners, not afraid to give you a swat if she thinks you’re being a brat--that kind of thing.”

“My mother was tall, I think.”

“Yes, I think that’s right.”

“You know my mother?” She was absolutely perplexed, “how?”

“I don’t actually know her, but your family is pretty well-known. I’ve seen pictures.”

“How do you know they’re my family?” 

“A little girl named Olivier Armstrong went missing from these mountains something like seventeen years ago. They said the wyvern ate her, but we know you actually became her.” He hesitated, “They looked for you for a long time, they love you.”

“Oh.” She shifted. “I’m going to sleep now.”

“Alright, goodnight, then.”

\---

Agitation and discontent flowed through her like bubbling lava in her veins. She soared, the wind, usually calming, too slow beneath her wings. She beat them with all her might and felt a gratifying, but temporary, surge of upward momentum.  

In her human form, she might identify her feelings as grief and hopelessness, but to her present self it was just a feeling of rage and a powerful need to stay in motion. She circled, searching for prey. They had enough food, but a bear or even a moose would provide a distraction in the form of a good fight.

She spotted, instead, a group of humans. Contrary to popular belief, she didn’t regularly attack travellers unless--the glint of something shiny derailed her thoughts. Honestly, she didn’t care what it was, all she knew in that instant was she  _ had to have it. _

She circled again, watching the humans close in on themselves, as if it would help. Flames from her mouth were a little uncomfortable, but she liked the way the humans panicked. It was easy, and she could swoop in and grab her prize while they cowered. 

A feeling of unease washed over her as she dove, the fight almost too easy, but she ignored it in favor of sinking her teeth into the shimmering thing. She pulled up, turning away, and a pain not entirely unfamiliar shot through her. 

She dropped the prize and pushed up through the air, but something was hooked in her side, tearing her flesh and dragging her downward. She spun and lashed out, her spiney tail knocking at least one hunter off their feet. Several others charged her, and she breathed flames, forcing them to retreat. 

They were better prepared than most, grappling hooks flying at her again. She roared and thrashed again, and then finally got enough room to take off again. The grappling hook still embedded in her side pulled, but she pulled harder and with a loud snap she was free. Her wings carried her on a frantic journey back to the cave. She felt cold and the world seemed to be tilting side to side as she flew. 

The glitter of her hoard rushed up to meet her, scattering as she landed unsteadily. There was an alarmed yell from the red-eyed human, and then darkness closed in.

\---

Miles leapt to his feet as Olivier crashed into the ground, blood and coins flying everywhere. “Olivier!” 

She regarded him with unfocused eyes for a moment, before her lids fluttered shut. He crouched beside her, examining her wound: a large grappling hook was embedded in her side, having torn it open from shoulder to hip-bone. She was breathing shallowly, and a fear unlike any he had ever known gripped him. 

“What do I do?” She, of course, gave no response, and he shook his head. “Come on, think.” With a determined nod he turned and grabbed his pack. He had a decent amount of medical supplies, and they would have to do. “Okay, I need to stop the bleeding.” Stitching would take too long and with a grimace he grabbed a sword from the pile, and set it in the fire. As it began to heat, he turned his attention to the grappling hook. A quick examination showed the best option would be to cut it out. 

He washed his best knife in the alcohol Buccaneer had left and made a swift cut. Olivier didn’t even stir and his fear grew. The sword was hot enough, and he pressed it against her wound. She did respond to that, thrashing weakly, a noise of pain rending his heart. Again and again he pressed against her wound, a few seconds at a time, trying not to make the situation worse. 

When he finally finished, the wyvern was twitching pitifully, otherwise still. He stepped back, trying to figure out what to do, when there was a cracking sound like bones breaking and the wyvern’s frame began to morph before his eyes. Even knowing it was magic, it was disconcerting to watch the transformation. All at once, a small human was sprawled before him, the pool of wyvern’s blood dark against her pale skin.

The wound ran from her armpit down to her hip, somehow starker in human flesh. She was no longer bleeding profusely, but her wound still needed stitching in places. For what seemed ages, Miles stitched and cleaned, pausing to check her heart rate, to count her shallow breaths, all the while whispering pleas for her to live. She was covered in congealing blood and when he thought it might be safe, he wrapped her in her cloak and carried her down to the underground river. There, he lit a new fire and cleaned the blood away, tending the smaller cuts and abrasions he found. 

Finally, there was nothing left to do, and he sat back, exhausted. He reached up to brush her hair out of her face, and cupped her cheek, studying her. She was pale as death, her lips tinged blue, but even so he could see she was astonishingly beautiful. Her lashes fluttered, eyes opening just enough for him to see a glimpse of blue, before they shut again. Realisation struck him like a thunderbolt.  _ He had seen her face. _

“I’m so sorry.” He pulled back, but there was nothing he could do now. She would die without his care, and maybe even with it. He would just have to hope the consequences would be better than the alternativ

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! 
> 
> As always, please let me know what you think. :)


	7. In the Cold

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all! This chapter is mostly moving the plot forward, but eh. Also, I'm rather busy so I wasn't very careful with editing, I'm sorry. 
> 
> Happy reading!

It wasn’t safe to stay in the cave; the hunters had seen Olivier’s path, and it wouldn’t take long for them to find her. Miles didn’t know what they would do if they found a human in the wyvern’s stead, and he refused to take any chances. There were many things he wanted to go back for, but he couldn’t risk leaving Olivier alone for so long when she was gravely injured, and he doubted he could carry her back and forth along the pathway, let alone carry supplies  _ and  _ her. Besides, he had brought his medical supplies and if he followed the river, they’d have water to tide them over until he found food.  

He rose, debating the best course of action when his gaze settled on the old copper wash tub. It was about the size of a small boat and he had a jolt of inspiration. He dragged it down to the riverbank. To his relief it floated, bobbing on the dark water. He pulled it back onto the shore and shrugged off his heavy coat. He shivered as he arranged it in the tub, but he ignored the biting cold and continued with his task. 

Olivier was limp when he lifted her and settled her into the improvised boat, wrapping the edges of his coat around her for added warmth. He settled his pack next to her and then there was just enough room for him on the other end. His last preparation was choosing a suitable log from the fire to use as an oar, and then he pushed off the shore, clambering in at the last second. 

The little makeshift boat bobbed along the river, following the current of the underground spring. Miles paddled against the drag of the current, pushing them higher up toward the source of the spring where the water would be purer.

Water bubbled up in the center of a small pool in a circular cave. Miles jumped out and dragged the tub up onto the rocks, wincing as the grating and rattling shook Olivier who moaned in pain.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered as he dragged it over another rock, “I don’t have any other choice.” When he finally pulled the tub onto the bank he set to work lighting a fire and settling Olivier next to it. The fuel he’d grabbed would keep them for a few hours, but he wasn’t sure what he would do after that. Sitting down, he pulled Olivier’s feet into his lap and rubbed them, trying to stimulate her circulation and keep the ever-increasing cold at bay.   

When her shivers escalated too severely, he laid her carefully on her uninjured side, and laid down beside her. It was odd to be able to wrap his arms around her instead of the other way around, but she fit neatly, her head tucked under his chin and her icy toes resting against his ankles. 

Miles hadn’t meant to fall asleep and he woke up all at once, as though he’d been plunged into the icy river. The fire was a few smoldering embers and Olivier was still and heavy in his arms.  _ Olivier! _ Panic filled him and he pressed a desperate hand to her neck. Her pulse was a welcome relief, weak though it was. 

He rebundled her in the coat and emptied every burnable thing from his pack onto the fire, coaxing it back to life. A rock from the edge of the fire wrapped in the pack would have to do as a hot water bottle and he carefully tucked it between the coat and her cloak near her feet. With nothing else to do, he set off down the only passageway out of the cavern, knife clutched in frozen fingers.

He didn’t know where it would go, if anywhere, but it was their only chance for survival. Soon, the hunters would be irrelevant as the cold claimed them. The tunnel was narrow, but level and before long he saw the first sign of hope since Olivier had collapsed on her trove: a faint glow of light. 

The tunnel opened up quite suddenly and Miles froze. In the hazy light a great shadow loomed. He stood stock still, holding his breath for several moments before his eyes adjusted to this new lighting and realized the shadow was a skeleton. He walked toward, taking in the vast ribcage and skull of a wyvern. This one had been older and larger than Olivier, no doubt about it. The scholar in him wanted to study it, to glean everything he could about it, but the pragmatist in him had other priorities. 

The cavern had obviously been the old wyvern’s home, and he was delighted to see wooden chests amongst the dusty hoard. He did a quick circuit of the cave, finding the light source to be a narrow crack in the ceiling, and the only living occupants to be rats that skittered away when he kicked over piles of the old hoard. Satisfied, he hurried back the way he came.

The little fire had already burned out when he returned, though it didn’t seem to have been out long, because Olivier wasn’t shivering too hard. He gathered her in his arms as carefully as he could, carried her back up the tunnel, and settled her on the most comfortable looking patch of dirt he could find. He worked up a sweat wrenching apart old trunks, piling the wood near enough her, and finally starting another fire. 

The crack in the ceiling gave him a way to measure the passing of time, but he payed it little mind, his days running together in a blur of keeping the fire going, cleaning and checking Olivier’s wounds, and worst of all searching for food. The old wyvern had a stash of weapons not unlike Olivier’s own, and he was able to construct a trap to catch the rats that called the cavern home. His stomach churned as he killed and gutted the little animals, but once cooked--he boiled them in an overturned helmet--they could almost pass as strips of chicken. He fed Olivier the broth whenever she was awake enough, though she was often defensive and angry, making it a difficult task. 

He dug out old rat-chewed cloaks and furs from the loot piles, and made a sort of nest for her. Whenever he didn’t need to be stoking the fire or catching and cooking food, he joined her, pulling her to his chest and talking quietly to her. Sometimes she seemed more human, clinging to him, and watching him through unfocused eyes whenever they opened, a few minutes at a time; other times her mind was draconian, and she clawed at him, though in her weakened state he only had to wrap his arms around her flailing limbs and she stilled. At one point she caught a fever, infection taking hold, and he thought he would lose her. And then the fever broke, and she awoke for real. 

“How long have we been here?” She asked, when Miles had helped her into a half-seated position and helped her sip some water.

“I’m not sure,” he admitted, redraping the furs to cover her more fully. “How do you feel?”

“Like I’ve been stabbed.” She groaned and brought a shaking hand to her head. “What happened?”

“You were stabbed.” She glared and he gave her a lopsided smile. “I brought you up the river to this cave. You’ve been in and out of consciousness. I didn’t know if you would make it.”

She nodded, “did you feed me... _rat?_ ” 

“I didn’t have any other choice. Don’t look at me like that! I’ve seen you eat whole caribou raw.” She snorted and his face softened into an affectionate smile. “I’m so glad you’re awake. For a while I wasn’t sure if--well, you’re awake now, so no use worrying about that.”

She looked around slowly, her blues widening in something like fear when she caught sight of the old skeleton, “why-” she shook her head, eyes narrowing and the emotion vanishing, “ _ how  _ did you bring me here?”

“I paddled the washtub up the river,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck, embarrassedly. “I didn’t know if there’d be anything up here, but I thought maybe you might change back, and if the hunters found you so injured-” he broke off and she nodded in understanding. “Have you been here before?”

“A long time ago.” 

He waited for her to go on, but she didn’t, so he tried another tactic. “You must be starving. Let me heat up some soup.”

Her brows rose and her nose wrinkled in disdain. “Is it rat soup?”

He shot her an offended glare, “I’ve added some mushrooms and tubers, I found. And besides, it isn’t as though there’s a gourmet shop I can pop off to.”  

“Are you sure they’re safe to eat?” She asked as he pulled the pot out of it’s cold corner and lowered it over the flames. 

“No, I just like to eat random foods and hope for the best.” She snorted again, but with a kind of light amusement that made him smile, “Buccaneer helped me identify the local edible foods while we were traveling.” 

“Ah.” She tilted her head, “is he here?”

Miles shook his head, apologetic. “No. I’m not sure he could even find of us.” He stirred the soup with a salvaged knife, and turned to glance back at her. “When you’re feeling up to it, I’ll go out and look for him. I’m sure we can leave some sort of clues or something.”

“I could go and look-” Olivier began, but Miles cut her off with a shake of his head.

“You’re still too weak. What if you turn unexpectedly?”     

“I’m more than capable of defending myself.” She set her face stonily, but Miles shook his head again.

“You’re not. I’m sorry, but right now, you’re too weak. By the time you’re well enough to fight again, winter will have set for real and not even Buccaneer will be out on the mountain.”

She glared, but made no protest, presumably because she was already slumping onto the furs, her face drawn with fatigue. Miles continued smiling apologetically as he brought the soup over, and began helping her eat. She tried to snatch the spoon from him, but her shaking fingers proved too unwieldy, and she dropped it, splashing the thin broth everywhere. 

“We’ll get through this,” he reassured as she sullenly allowed him to spoon soup into her mouth. “It’ll be alright.”

He repeated those words again and again as time wore on. Repeated them when Olivier fell during her first solo journey from the nest, repeated them when she pushed herself too hard and vomited while attempting to walk around the perimeter of the cavern. Repeated them when she woke him in the middle of the night, crying with the pain of a slow-healing injury, and repeated them when she shuddered with nightmares she refused to speak of. He sincerely hoped they were true as he made short voyages from the cave to look for Buccaneer and found only hunters, and he desperately prayed they were true when the air blowing in their crack in the ceiling became colder and their windows of light, shorter.

\---

Buccaneer had just procured the last parcel from Karley that Miles had asked for from his mysterious sponsor when the news of the injured wyvern reached him. He’d headed down to the tavern with everyone else to hear the tales, and then slipped easily into one of the many hunting parties heading out in hopes of seeking out and destroying the beautiful creature. 

It took longer than he hoped to separate himself, and he was horrified to find that already her cave had been discovered and looted. No sign of Olivier  _ or  _ Miles emerged, though and he set off to search on his own, not knowing what he would find or where.

He felt like a fool when the answer finally occurred to him. He crept into the cave late at night when the few people optimistic enough to camp out there in hopes of her return were sleeping. He followed the smaller tunnel to the river bank and he almost shouted for joy when he saw the old copper basin was gone. The bank had been so frequently tread upon that he couldn’t make out if it had been dragged into the water, but he had an intuition and that was good enough for him. He pulled out an oiled skin gifted to him by the Elder when she’d banished him--a sign of good faith that he would someday return--and murmured the prayer he’d learnt as a child as he wrapped himself in it. Taking a deep breath, he dove into the water.

It was cold, but the skin did its job, keeping him and his parcels dry as he slowly swam up the river. The risk of drowning was, he supposed, rather high, but the possible reward was motivation enough to keep him going. Finally, he clambered out into a rounded chamber where the spring bubbled up. He’d been there only once before, but he made his way down the offshoot with certain steps.

He stepped out into the dim light of the old wyvern’s cavern and found himself on the business end of a sword. “Olivier!” He reached for her, batting the sword aside thoughtlessly and pulling her up into a tight embrace. She was too light in his arms, and her protest too feeble, but she was  _ alive _ .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed, and thank you for your patience as I slowly update.


	8. A Trove of Emotions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, it's been a while, hasn't it? To warn you: I was really excited when I finished this chapter and I wanted to get it out, so I didn't exactly proofread. Oops.
> 
> Happy reading!

Miles dug into the packages Buccaneer had brought eagerly. He’d barely gotten the cloth off the dried meat before Olivier jumped on it. 

“Been hungry?” Buccaneer chuckled as she tore into it eagerly. She nodded and his smile faded a bit. “If you’ve been holed up here, what have you been eating?” 

“Rats,” Olivier informed him through a full mouth. 

“Is that as nasty as it sounds?” 

“Yes.” 

“Slow down there, Liv.” Miles cautioned as she reached for another piece, “your stomach isn’t used to anything this heavy anymore.” 

“Tch!” 

“I can’t believe you’re listening to him, you’re stubborn as hell when I try to help you!” Olivier threw Buccaneer a glare and Miles smiled into his packages. 

“Olivier, these are for you, I think.” He held out a few small bundles, and she took them uncertainly. “Go on, open them.” She pulled them to her chest and glared at him.

“What?”

“She’s a dragon,” Buccaneer snickered, “she doesn’t want anyone else to see her new treasure.”

Miles forced down a smile, “you can open them behind the curtain if you’d rather.” Still glaring, she nodded and crossed the cave to vanish behind a curtain made of bits of old moth-eaten clothes and blankets they’d scavenged. Miles leaned forward to whisper conspiratorially, “she’s started hoarding again.”

“Did you get too curious?” Buccaneer asked knowingly, chuckling slightly at the wide-eyed look he received in response. 

“I can hear you!” Olivier snapped from behind the curtain. She opened the bundles slowly, listening to the two men catch up. She liked things, but gifts were uncharted territory for her. She wasn’t sure what to expect. Blue greeted her as she folded the edges of the paper back, curiously she pulled the object out all the way. It unfolded to reveal a dress of deep blue wool. She stared. 

Slowly, she turned to the other packages, finding a soft linen shift, stockings, and leather moccasins. She laid them all out, and looked critically down at her current attire: A shapeless and patched shirt that had once belonged to Miles, and a cape from the old wyvern’s hoard that they’d repurposed into a skirt. It wasn’t very flattering, but she hadn’t thought Miles the type to care. And if her patched together coverings bothered him, what in three caves, had he thought of her when he’d had to bandage and clean her bare body? 

She stripped off the old clothes and shivered while she tried to work on the courage to put on the new ones. The linen was soft against her skin and the wool dress far warmer than any of the cobbled together garments had ever been. She wasn’t used to wearing things on her feet and she shifted uncomfortably as she tried to adjust to the new sensations.

“Are you alright back there?” Instead of responding, she stepped back into the main cavern. “Oh, wow. Olivier, you look beautiful!”

Buccaneer had chosen that moment to take a swig of water and he choked, spewing it everywhere. “Y-you look like a real girl!”   

“If you’re going to make fun-” she started angrily, but Miles quieted her with a hurried wave of his hands. 

“We’re not making fun, I swear! Are they warm enough?”

“What?” 

“I was worried about you being too cold; is it warm enough?” 

“Oh.” She patted herself cautiously, suddenly warm inside and out. “Yes, thank you.”  

“We were about to start talking about plans for dealing with the hunters before the winter gets too brutal, if you want to join us.” Miles offered when she stood there watching them in silence. She nestled into his side, resting her head on his shoulder, and he draped an arm over her without a second thought. They’d become accustomed to close contact, sharing warmth and comfort. Only Buccaneer looking at them strangely made Miles realize how close they’d become.  

“What would you think if I took some teeth off the old skeleton?” 

“Why would you do that?!”

“Well, I was thinking I could take them as proof of death for you. If the hunters thought you were dead, they might leave.”

“They’d wonder why you weren’t claiming the prize,” Miles frowned, thoughtfully. “But, I suppose it might work.”

“There’s a prize for killing me?” Buccaneer and Miles looked at each other and then away quickly. Olivier sat up straighter, crossing her arms, and glaring at them. “What aren’t you telling me?” 

Miles sighed quietly, and opened the new leather-bound journal that Buccaneer had brought. From between the pages he produced a newspaper advert, which he held out to her. She took it frowning.

“For the cap-” she paused, “cap-t-”

“Here, the light is better on my side of the fire.” Buccaneer took the paper and began reading. “For the capture or proof of death of the Briggs Mountain Wyvern, a reward of 10,000 gold pieces is offered by Philip Gargantos Armstrong.”

“My father?” Olivie stared at Buccaneer disbelieving, “why would he want me dead?” Buccaneer looked helplessly to Miles.

“He doesn’t know it’s you. They all think a wyvern killed you when you were a little girl. They’re trying to avenge you. Well,” he paused, “not all of them. My benefactor thinks there’s a chance you might still be alive. That’s why he funded this trip to begin with.”

“Your benefactor?” 

“Do you remember your little brother, Alex?”

“I think so,” she frowned with the effort of concentration, “he was just a baby when I-” 

“Right. He never thought the story quite added up, so when the sightings increased, he hired me to come look for you. I’ll be honest, I was never expecting to find you, but I knew I could work on my anthology and actually get paid for it, so I took the job.”

“Oh.” Olivier slowly lowered her head to his shoulder again, her face unreadable.

“I know it’s a lot to process. Would you like to go to bed and take this back up in the morning?” She nodded and he glanced at Buccaneer, “good by you?” 

“Sure.” Buccaneer glanced over at the nest, “is there room for three, or-?”    

“We’ll make it work.” 

Olivier’s snores soon filled the cavern, but sleep was evasive for Miles, and apparently Buccaneer who whispered to Miles, “so, are you two-?” 

“What?” 

“You know-” he cleared his throat pointedly, “ _ involved. _ ”

“No!” 

“Really?”

“Look, I like her. A lot. But, she’s been trapped in this mountain since she was eight years old. You and I are the only humans she’s known in that time. It wouldn’t be fair to start anything with her when she doesn’t have a full range of options.”    

“She may never have a ‘full range of options’. And she likes you, I can tell.” 

“Does it really count if she doesn’t even know anyone else to like?” Miles’ fingers had been carding gently through her hair, but stilled. “She can barely read, Buccaneer!”

“That doesn’t make her unintelligent.” 

“I know that. My point is, she has a whole world to explore. She’s clinging to me because she doesn’t have anyone else. I won’t take advantage of that.” He cleared his throat. “And if I so much as  _ think  _ you’re-”

“She’s the best friend I’ve ever had. I would never hurt her!” There was a pronounced silence before Buccaneer spoke again, softer. “Look, the truth is she may never have the opportunities you think she should. Shouldn’t she have as much happiness as you can give her?” 

“I’m not ready to give up on finding a way to help her.” 

In the silence that followed, they both tried to sleep, while Olivier stared into the darkness trying to process all that had been said since Miles’ horrified exclamation had woken her. Buccaneer wasn’t wrong; she did like Miles. But, if Miles thought she was too vulnerable or too stupid, maybe he was right, too. She had only the most fragmented of memories beyond the mountain range, and her stumbles over the simple advert had been humiliating to say the least. Maybe Miles wasn’t interested in her because there were so many other options out there for him, women that could read aloud properly, that could remember their own families, owned real clothes, and didn’t turn into dragons at a moment’s notice. Maybe he couldn’t wait to get out of there.  

\---

Miles couldn’t get Buccaneer’s words out of his head. Olivier was, in some ways, naive, but she also had a depth and breadth to her that sprung out of her long periods of transformation and suffering. There were dozens of scrolls and books in her hoard, and he’d seen her reading, so surely it was reading out loud that had distressed her, not reading in general. 

He didn’t mean to, but he kept finding himself stealing glances at her as they prepared a morning meal from the preserves and jerky that Buccaneer had brought them. She was withdrawn, her face steely, but that wasn’t so out of the ordinary.     

Buccaneer awkwardly avoided eye contact with either of them, make mundane conversation about the treasure trove. 

“So,” he said when he apparently couldn’t take it anymore, “where are we on the fake proof of death?”

“Fine by me.” 

Miles shook his head, “it’ll work while she hibernates, maybe, but once she comes out for the spring, it’ll all far apart.”

“Good thing we have such a clever bounty hunter, I mean scholar, to think for us!” 

“What?” Miles stared at Olivier in shock and disbelief. 

“I’m going to go down to the river-” Buccaneer muttered, getting to his feet, “er, I’m thirsty. Yup. Just going to go down the river.”

“Olivier, what’s the matter?”

“You think you’re so much better than me! You treat me like a child!”

“I had no intention-”

“No intention?!” She seemed to swell before him, face glowing with rage, eyes glinting. He took a cautious step backward. “I’ve been looking after myself all these years, and I’ve been doing just fine! I know you think I’m a foolish child--don’t deny it!--and I am not! People camp in these caves and travel these mountains more often than you know. I may not be able to waltz in and make myself at home with them, but I’ve watched them and learned! I know what kinds of people are out there! I didn’t get attached to you because I didn’t know better! I liked you best!” 

Miles took a deep breath, extending a hand. “I’m sorry, Olivier. I think you need to calm down now. Breathe.” 

“I’m not a child!” Her face contorted, first with rage, and then for real. She threw up her hands, which were lengthening into claws. “Don’t look at me!” 

Miles stared wide-eyed until she began to claw at her clothes, trying to remove them before they tore, and then struck by horrifying realization, turned away. Olivier’s raging shouts gave way to screams of pain unlike anything he had ever heard. He crouched covering his ears and whispered pleas for her suffering to end, for her wounds to not reopen. 

The screams faded and heavy panting filled the silence. Slowly, fearfully, he got to his feet and turned. The wyvern stared down at him, and he extended a shaking hand. “Olivier?” The wyvern gave no indication she understood, lumbering past him without a second glance and crossing the cavern in only a few long strides. She stopped before the old skeleton and lowered her head to touch the skull. 

The noise that came out of her was unlike anything Miles had ever heard before: a cry of such immense sorrow that his heart ached. She nosed the skeleton sadly, looking for something, though Miles could not imagine what. Her search complete, she reared back and let loose a bellow that shook the cave walls. Falling back to all fours, she let out another sorrowful cry. 

In Ishval, the dragons never allowed outsiders in when they were grieving. Even scholars like his grandfather who had cohabited with the creatures for decades were banned from the collective mourning rituals they shared. As such, Miles felt suddenly and overwhelmingly out of place. Slowly, carefully, he began to creep out of the cave. He nearly made it to the entrance when the Wyvern gave an angry roar and, with a powerful flapping of her wings, cut his journey short.

She loomed before him, eyes narrowed, nostrils flared, teeth and horns glinting in the half-light. For the first time, he truly feared she might harm him. He took a cautious step toward her and she snarled. He stopped and watched her; she made no move to harm him. 

He remembered something his grandfather had always done when faced with an angry creature of any kind. He drew a steadying breath and began to hum. She tilted her head, some of the anger fading from her. Emboldened, he sang an old Ishvalan lullaby and watched as the tension slid from her frame. She sank to the floor, and he finally dared approach her. Without pausing in his song, he touched her head. She let out a soft whine, and he smiled. He sang his way through every lullaby he knew, gently making his way down her body, lifting her wing to examine the wound, which looked angry and sore, but had not split open. 

He returned to stroke her face which seemed to please her, as she pressed her head to his chest. He was out of lullaby, but it hardly seemed to matter when she closed her eyes and sighed softly. He smiled, ran his fingers over her little curling horn, and then lowered his head to press a kiss to her scaly forehead. 

Without thinking, and without hesitation, he whispered to her three simple words that would seal their fates forever:

_ “I love you.” _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> As always, I love to hear your thoughts!


	9. Dealt in the Dark

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all! This chapter's quite little, but I wrote it as a treat to myself after completing an art philosophy paper that I really, really, struggled with, so I hope you all enjoy! 
> 
> Happy reading!

She didn’t change back right away, or even in the next few days. Buccaneer and Miles adapted to working around the wyvern who tucked herself into a spiky ball and watched them without moving for days on end. Miles approached her periodically, stroking her face and whispering softly to her, but she only blinked tiredly at him, occasional sighs escaping her. Neither he nor Buccaneer had any idea how to coax her into moving or eating. 

He was somewhere between sleeping and awake when a hand touched his shoulder. “Get up.”

He sat up slowly, eyes settling on the spectre of a little girl. He blinked slowly, but she remained, blonde curls, blue eyes, and ruffled dress exactly as they had been the day she’d vanished into a mountain cave never to be seen again. “Olivier?”

“I can take many forms.” The girl never blinked and it was beginning to be unnerving. “And I have many names. I chose this one because I thought it would alarm you least.”

“Who are you?” 

“I told you, I have many names.”

He rubbed his eyes even though he knew instinctively that what he was seeing was no figment of his imagination. “Why are you-?” He cleared his throat, “what do you want?”

“I want what’s mine.”

“What?” 

“The heart of the mountain. You took it.”

“I haven’t taken anything!” His protest seemed to anger her and her little face contorted darkly. 

“You stole the heart!” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about! What heart?”

“ _ Her  _ heart!” She pointed at the sleeping dragon and Miles’ heart dropped into his stomach. “She’s mine! She’s only allowed to love me!”

Miles swallowed, trying to overcome the sense of despair that was creeping over him. “What happened to the wyvern that was here before?”

“She abandoned me to rescue a lost little girl.”

“Did she die because of that?” 

The girl-shaped monster shrugged. “She shouldn’t have left me alone! She knew better!“

“And the lost little girl?”  

“I had to punish her.”

“Will you punish Olivier now? Are you going to hurt her?” 

“Not if you leave. I’ll make her forget all about you.”

“If I leave now, she’ll follow. She’ll be so sad, she won’t stay with you!”

“I can make her forget.”

“You know that won’t work!” Miles’ mind was working through the scrolls he’d read and everything he’d seen and observed at lightning speeds. “That’s what happened before, isn’t it? You made the old wyvern forget so much, you broke her heart! She couldn’t keep going on, that’s why Olivier stole it so easily, isn’t it? She just wanted someone to love!”

“You don’t know anything!” 

“Yes, I do.” He leaned forward, “you’re the spirit of the old witch. You were banished from Drachma and Buccaneer’s people trapped you in the mountain. You’ve been sitting here, wiling away the years by trapping others with you.” 

The witch straightened, slowly morphing upward into her true form, an old ogre cowled in black. Her gnarled old face twisted spitefully at him. “So, you think you’re a clever one?” 

“I don’t think anything.” He studied her for a moment, trying to read anything in the greying skin. “I do have an idea, though. How would you like to make a deal?”

\---

The morning brought a change in the wyvern’s behavior. When Miles awoke, later than usual after his night’s adventure, Buccaneer was sitting by the fire watching as she dragged items around the cave. 

“What’s going on?” He asked blearily, rubbing his eyes. 

Buccaneer shrugged, “she’s organizing the trove, I think? She’s been at it a while, I’ve seen her do this before, but it’s been a long time. I think she’s making a new nest.” 

“Nests are where she keeps her most valuable treasures, right?” 

Buccaneer nodded, and they sat in silence watching her pick through the items at her disposal, discarding the moth-eaten fabrics, rotten wood, and rusty weapons with disdainful snorts. She went back and forth, circling the cave and choosing only the best and shiniest items, carrying them back to her nest and carefully arranging them. She climbed onto it, patting the heap with her tail and scraping any loose edges back into place. 

She stepped back to survey it, sweeping things back into place again, before padding gently over to where Buccaneer and Miles were sitting and watching her. She lowered her head and nudged Miles. 

“What?”

She nudged him again, harder, and he had to scramble to his feet to avoid having his upturned crate tipped over under him. She seemed pleased with this development, huffing softly and nosing him. 

He patted her head gently, “what is it, Liv?” She hooked his shoulder with her chin and pulled him forward. “Ow! What do you want?” She sat down, hard and glared at him. He raised his eyebrows in confusion, and her spiked rose to point toward the nest. 

“Do you want me to go and look at it?” She pointed more sharply and, with a nervous glance at Buccaneer, he obeyed her silent directions and crossed to the nest. She followed, and when he came to the edge, he stopped. “It looks lovely, Liv. Are these all the best pieces?” 

She huffed again and pushed his shoulder. 

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what you want.” He looked over his shoulder again and Buccaneer shrugged. Her tail thumped on the ground in a rapid, irritated rhythm. “It’s beautiful, honestly.” 

She growled, and her teeth descended on the back of his shirt. He didn’t have time to protest before he was being lifted in the air and deposited in the center of the nest. 

“Oh, um. Thank you?” 

“Wow! She almost took my other arm off when I first tried to touch her nest!” 

“I don’t suppose you have any idea what she wants do you?” 

Buccaneer shook his head, but the wyvern clambered in after him, flapping her wings. He crouched, trying to avoid getting slapped by a leathery wing. She slowed her flapping and pushed against him with a wing until he was pressed to lie down on an old cloak she’d draped over center of the nest. She sat back, huffing softly, and her tail thumped against the nest, sending a few coins clattering away.

“Did you mean to push me down?” She laid down beside him, draping a wing over him and pressing her scaly chin against the top of his head. She coiled tightly, pulling him into her side.

“Buc?” His voice came out rather muffled, from under the top of her wing.

“Yes?”

“Am I a giant cuddle toy, now?” 

Buccaneer snorted with laughter. “Do you want an honest answer to that?”

Miles groaned, but couldn’t bring himself to protest as the wyvern sighed sleepily. Nestled against a veritable furnace, he was the warmest he’d been since he’d left his home in Ishval. Her soft snores filled the cave, but he was still wide awake and found himself pondering the deal he’d made. 

When she turned back would Olivier be angry at him? He’d gone behind her back to strike up a deal with a dangerous and rather malicious spirit. He took the nestling behavior to mean the wyvern’s anger had dissipated, but it had been born out of the Olivier’s anger at being coddled. Making a decision for her, no matter how well intentioned, might tip her over the edge into another bout of near-deadly rage. Listening to the peaceful rhythm of her snores, he decided it was worth it. 

\---

He wasn’t sure when he drifted off, but he woke to find himself unexpectedly cold. He sat up, looking around and finding the cave dimly lit by the last vestiges of sunlight. Buccaneer was nowhere to be seen, but when he looked down at the nest, Olivier was curled up at the edge, wrapped in a cloak, golden hair spread around her. 

Miles crawled across the nest, joints protesting their time sprawled on the lumpy metal surface, and nudged her shoulder. She groaned, batting at his hand. He smiled a little at her sleepy irritation, and shook her a little harder.

“Wake up, Olivier.”

“No.”

“Come on, I need to talk to you.” She opened one bright blue eye to glare at him. “Please?” 

“Fine.” She sat up, and he averted his eyes as the cloak slid down her shoulders. “Pass me my clothes?” Blushing, he scrambled to find them and stood with his back to her while she pulled them on. She wrapped her arms around his middle from behind, head resting between his shoulder blades. “What’s so important that you needed to wake me up?” 

“Can you tell me what happened to you before?”

“What?” She pulled back from him a little, and he didn’t have to see her face to know what type of confused expression she was making, “you know I can’t talk about the curse!” 

He smiled to himself when she gasped. “Can you tell me you name?” 

“It’s-” she hesitated, drawing a breath “my name is Olivier Mira Armstrong.” He closed his eyes, savoring the sound of her voice, hesitant as it was. She gripped his arms, whirling him around to face her. Her expression was devoid of the wonder and joy he’d been hoping for, but also lacked the anger he’d feared; she looked, instead, completely terrified. 

“Miles! _ What have you done? _ ”  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No, I didn't really edit this, why do you ask? ;) When I'm tired I start using near homonyms on accident, so I do hope there aren't too many of those.
> 
> Thanks for reading! 
> 
> As always, please do drop a line and let me know what you think! :)


	10. A Fine Challenge

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello lovelies, this chapter is long overdue for which I apologize.
> 
> Happy reading!

“Look, Buccaneer, all I need is for you to take her and go back down the mountain. Quickly.”

The bigger man frowned down at him, arms crossed. He knew something was happening, something that had made Olivier shout, and Miles to become steely and withdrawn. “And if she doesn’t want to go?”

Miles swallowed, “you’re bigger than she it, aren’t you?” 

Buccaneer snorted. “You want me to carry her down the mountain, kicking and screaming?” 

“If you have to.” 

“You’re serious?” Buccaneer’s frown deepened, “why?”

“I figured out how to help her, but she’s not happy about it.” 

“Aren’t you the one who kept insisting we shouldn’t help her if she didn’t want it? ‘Maybe she likes being a wyvern’ and all?” 

“That was before I understood the situation properly. Knowing what I do now, it would be wrong for me to not help.”

“But what are you doing?”

“Maybe I didn’t make myself clear; you need to take her and  _ go. _ ” Miles cleared his throat as Buccaneer stayed still, continuing to glare down at him. _ “ _ Now.” 

Shaking his head, the big man obeyed, turning and making his way back into the cavern. Miles followed, avoiding eye contact with Olivier when she looked up from the scrolls she had spread across her lap.

“This is idiotic, Miles. There’s got to be a better way.”

“I made a deal, Olivier. I won’t go back on my word.” 

“Well, I’m not leaving.”

“You have to.”

“I am not leaving,” she rose, her voice growing deadly cold, “and there’s nothing you can do about it.” Miles and Buccaneer exchanged a look before Buccaneer, grimacing, wrapped an arm around her waist. With one quick movement he had the petite woman over his shoulder. She swore colorfully in multiple languages and pounded on his back, kicking at his stomach and ribs, “How dare you! Put me down!”

“Careful! You’ll hurt yourself!” Buccaneer warned, shifting his grip and trying to keep her from wriggling loose. “Stop that!”

“I’m sorry, I really am.” Miles stepped forward to take her flailing fist in his hands. She clocked him hard with the other. “It’s for your own good.”

“I’m not some damsel in distress!”

“I know, love.” He leaned forward to kiss her forehead, “but this is the only way.” He brushed her hair aside, finally daring to meet her eyes which were squinted in anger. “I’ll always love you.”

“Then don’t do this!”

“I’m sorry.” With considerable effort he turned to Buccaneer, squaring his shoulders. “Take good care of her for me?”

“Of course.” With a somber nod, Buccaneer began his journey down the long burrow. Miles could hear Olivier cursing him all the way along. He sank down onto edge of the wyvern nest, the weight of his decision catching up to him. It was easy enough to agree when he could easily see the pain and suffering she would be spared. Harder now that he was alone, her angry shouts still ringing in his ears.

“You know, a bridegroom should be happy. Wouldn’t want his bride to think he has cold feet.”

  He answered the witch without looking up, “I don’t know that I can manage ‘happy’ but I said I’d do it, and I will.”

“Hmmph. Men are such fragile creatures!”

He still didn’t look up, only nodded miserably. “Indeed.”

“I’m offended.” She trailed her fingers over his shoulder and then forced his chin up. “You won’t look your bride in the face.”

 

Grimacing, he lifted his gaze and then yelped, leaping up and scrambling backwards.

“What’s the matter? I thought you’d like it.” Her face was twisted in a look too cruel to ever belong to it. 

“Anything but that!” His hands balled into fists at his sides. “Please. Wear any face but that one.”

“Are you sure?” She’d mimicked Olivier to the last detail, a convincing copy if not for the way she held herself, her cruel countenance. “I thought you liked this body. Don’t you at least want to see if I got the details right?”

“I don’t.” He breathed slowly and deeply. “Please, I don’t care what you look like, but don’t wear her like a costume.” She shifted slowly, face morphing into something still similar, but different enough to settle the rolling unease in his stomach. “Thank you.”

The witch rolled her eyes. “In the old days, I would have only settled for a prince,” she paused to eye him speculatively, “I don’t suppose you have any royal blood?”

“I’m afraid not,” he shook his head, though inwardly considered it a small victory, “just farmers and scholars in my family tree.”  

“How disappointing.” 

He shrugged, “what now?” 

“We have to wait until sundown to start the ceremony, but then we can have a magically binding wedding and you’ll live here in this mountain with me forever.”

“Are you-” he paused, swallowing thickly, “are you going to turn me into a wyvern?”

She raised her brows, “do you want to be a wyvern?”

“No!” 

“You’re boring.” She huffed, putting her hands on her hips. 

“That’s unfortunate for you.”

She huffed again, and he turned his attention to scuffing the ground beneath his feet. He supposed he would have to get used to it. He had promised he would never try to escape, to leave her. The winding caverns of the mountain would be all he would see until his days ran out. Maybe in a hundred years or even two hundred, she would trust him enough to let him see the daylight again, long after Olivier, Buccaneer, and everyone else he had ever known or loved had passed. It was a bleak future, for sure.

\---

“You  _ will  _ put me down, Buccaneer, or so help me-!” Olivier had largely stopped struggling, and had moved into reasoning. “Listen to me!” She hit his chest again, just once. “Did Miles even tell you why he wanted me gone?”

The big man paused for a moment, stumbling slightly, then kept going.

“You didn’t ask? You’ve known me for years and you just-”

He stopped, sighed, and lowered her somewhat abruptly to the ground. “There are way too many people and things trying to kill you for me to take the time to find out what the newest threat was. Miles was sure you needed help, and I know how dangerous these hunters can be!”

“Please! I can take care of myself!” He opened his mouth and she cut across him angrily, “what do you know about hunters that I don’t?”

“I used to be one!”

“That was a long time ago!”

“Doesn’t mean I don’t remember how hateful and angry they can be!” He sighed, leaning down to grip her shoulder, “how hateful and angry I was. Liv, I-”

“I almost killed you, not the other way around.”

“But, you’re injured now. You weren’t then.” He squeezed her shoulder, “you can’t fight like you did back then.”

Olivier’s angry frown gave way to a more thoughtful one, “maybe I don’t have to.”

\---

“The sun is almost set.”

“Already?” 

“You sound almost disappointed.”

Miles smiled coolly at his soon-to-be-bride, “oh, only almost?”

She snorted, “you don’t have to like me. You just have to stay.”

He felt a pang of guilt, “are you really that lonely?”

“Lonely?” She smiled cruelly, “not hardly. I’m bored.” 

Miles only nodded grimly. He’d made a bargain for his love’s life and freedom, whatever happened to him after was inconsequential.However strange or miserable his future was, he was satisfied with his decision.   

He made no offer to help as the witch made her way around the cavern gathering everything she needed to create a magically binding contract. She insisted he “freshen up” so he splashed cold water on his face and finger-combed his hair, deliberately looking no better than he had before. The witch gave him an annoyed look and he shrugged in response. 

“Shall we begin?”

He swallowed and nodded, “I suppose-”

“Wait!” Olivier appeared in the entrance tunnel, face flushed, sword in hand, Buccaneer behind her. “I incur the right to challenge!”

“What? Buccaneer why-”

“Oh, by what rights?”

Oivier straightened, pushing her hair out of her face, “According to Drachman tradition, any women who believes her intended has been taken away by witchcraft, she may challenge the witch.”

“And you think you can challenge me and win?”

“I do.”

“Olivier, I’ve made my-”

“Oh, shut up, Miles.”

Miles fell silent, shooting a glare at Buccaneer who looked like he might want to laugh, but sombered at the look. His stomach churned as Olivier and the witch sized each other up, regarding each other through narrowed eyes.  

“What challenges do you propose?” 

“We each choose one and Miles picks the third.”

“You really did your research, didn’t you?”

“I can’t leave any loopholes for you to wiggle through.”

The witch snorted, then nodded. “You first, then.”

“If Miles marries you he has to stay here with you forever, right? So how can you protect and shelter him from the hunters and thieves that are tearing apart this mountain in search of treasure?”

She laughed, “do you really think they can find their way  _ up  _ a river? Even if they can, I have my ways to conceal, to confuse, and to erase their memories. What do you have, then?” 

Olivier smiled darkly, and stepped backward, contorting and changing before their eyes. The wyvern reared up, letting loose a bellow that shook the mountain, flames roaring over head and then fell back to all fours.

Miles couldn’t suppress a smile, “I think we have a winn-oof!” Olivier snatched him with a wing and coiled around him like a snake, growling lowly at the witch. 

“Well, she’s got the shelter part down,” Buccaneer offered.

The witch’s nostrils flared, but she could not argue. “And your challenge, you foolish man?” 

He couldn’t be bothered to be offended as he wiggled his head out of the scaly embrace. “Buccaneer, do you know anything about these things? I really have no ideas.”

Buccaneer seemed completely at a loss. “What about who can produce better fire?” 

“Fair enough.” Miles nodded, “show me your best flames.”

Olivier drew herself up, still clutching Miles to herself, and breathed out a magnificent plumage of red hot flames that seemed to go on for minutes, before dropping to the ground, winded. Miles petted her scaly head and murmured encouragements. 

“Oh foolish, foolish man.” With a snap of her fingers, the witch produced flames of her own, green and purple, blue and white, dancing and flickering around the cavern while she smiled. “You forgot about magic.”

Miles wanted to curse himself as the wyvern made a snorting sound.

“And now, it’s my turn to set the challenge.” She pointed at the wyvern and muttered something under her breath. The wyvern began to change at once, shrinking and receding to her human form with several loud snaps and an ominous whine. 

After a moment, Olivier lay curled on the floor, apparently unconscious and quite bare. Miles yanked off his cloak, throwing it over her as he crouched to touch her neck and feel her pulse. Her eyes fluttered open and she sat up slowly.

“What’s your challenge, you old crone?”

“Come here and see,” the witch beckoned her, already walking toward the tunnel. 

Olivier got to her feet unsteadily, but Miles grabbed her arm. “What are you planning?” 

“You’ll see in a moment,” was all the response he got before Olivier pried his hand loose and followed, clutching the cloak around herself. 

The passing minutes felt like hours as Miles paced back and forth.

“Well, which is real and which is fake?”

He spun to find himself face to face with two identical Olivier’s. He stared.

“Whoever you choose leaves with you, the other must stay here alone.”    

Buccaneer shot him a panicked look, but he was taking in the women. They certainly both looked the same, the same blond hair and bright blue eyes, the same full lips. They were  both wearing shapeless brown shifts and staring blankly back at him. 

“Miles?” Buccaneer prompted after a moment, “do you-?” He broke off abruptly a Miles stepped swiftly forward, catching Olivier’s face in his hands and kissing her firmly. “Is that your choice, then?”

“Yes,” he murmured as he pulled away from the kiss and rested his forehead against that of the woman he loved, “yes, this is her.”

She was smiling up at him, “how on earth did you know?” 

“How could I not?” 

“As sweet as this is, what happened to the witch? She’s vanished!”

Olivier turned toward Buccaneer, her smiled smug. “She was so sure she could fool Miles, that we made a deal of our own. She staked her magic on it.”

“But without magic-” Miles began, brow knit.

Olivier nodded, “she’s turned to dust.” 

Buccaneer’s bear hug was preceded by his holler of joy. “You’re free, Liv! After all this time, you’re free!” He pounded Miles on the back, “you did it!” 

Miles let out a noise somewhere between a laugh and a sob, “ _ we  _ did it!”

\---

“Are you ready, Olivier?”

They’d packed their belongings, prepared for a long journey down the mountain and then ridden down the river in the old washtub. They’d followed the lead of dozens of hunters and camped in a corner of the main cavern until daybreak. She’d been ecstatic while they’d prepared and they hadn’t stopped celebrating. But here, in the mouth of the cave, she had frozen. 

“I haven’t seen sunlight in fifteen years.” Miles and Buccaneer exchanged a look. Certainly, the wyvern had left the cave, during the day, but she hadn’t been able to leave in her true form. “I’ve been dreaming about it all this time, but-”

“It’s alright,” Miles held out a hand and she took it, taking Buccaneer’s in her other hand, “we’re right here with you.”

“Think of it as a new adventure.” Buccaneer added gruffly, though Miles thought he saw tears glimmering in the edge of his vision.

Olivier squeezed both their hands and nodded. Together, they stepped out into the sunlight, leaving behind nothing but dust.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Never fear, there is an epilogue. :) 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! As always, I would love to hear your thoughts. <3

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! 
> 
> Please drop me a line and let me know what you think so far!


End file.
